


Inevitability

by xanderwilde



Series: The Brother I Never Had [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arkham Asylum, Canon Rewrite, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Claustrophobia, Developing Friendships, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Manipulation, False Identity, Fluff, Galavan sucks but what else is new, Insanity, Kidnapping, Medical Inaccuracies, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Orphans, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Soft Jeremiah Valeska, Torture, Wayne Enterprises, Wayne Manor, because i write for the aesthetic not for the accuracy and you can't stop me, lots of whump because i have no soul, pre-spray jeremiah valeska, takes place during season 2-ish, the tags say major character death but this is gotham so, these tags are really out of order im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-03-20 09:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 85,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanderwilde/pseuds/xanderwilde
Summary: Bruce shoved the stack of papers back into the folder and tossed it across the table with a scowl. “What kind of name is Xander anyway?”His butler shot him a warning look, shuffling the papers into order. “Unless my memory has suddenly deserted me, you were raised to possess at least the common decency of politeness, Master Bruce.”Bruce crossed his arms, slumping down in the kitchen chair as Alfred turned back to the whistling tea kettle on the stove. “This was a stupid idea anyway.”(Part one of a sorta-AU series where Bruce and Jeremiah meet each other way back like around season 2 and everything is changed because of it.)





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been craving some more soft!Jeremiah content so I started this fic...I'm planning on it eventually being a three-part series that kinda follows canon but also has some pretty major twists. Hope y'all like it! :P
> 
>  
> 
> PS in this fic the twins are only 2 years older than Bruce, who's 13 at the beginning of the story (one year after his parents died).

**Chapter One**

 

Bruce shoved the stack of papers back into the folder and tossed it across the table with a scowl. “What kind of name is Xander anyway?”

His butler shot him a warning look, shuffling the papers into order. “Unless my memory has suddenly deserted me, you were raised to possess at least the common decency of politeness, Master Bruce.”

Bruce crossed his arms, slumping down in the kitchen chair as Alfred turned back to the whistling tea kettle on the stove. “This was a stupid idea anyway.”

Alfred glanced at him sharply over his shoulder. “You are the one responsible for shutting yourself away from the world. If you had made some friends of your own accord…”

“Then you wouldn’t be forcing me to share my house with some stranger I haven’t even met before?” Bruce interrupted bitterly, gesturing at the file that sat on the table between them. Alfred raised an eyebrow.

“If that’s the way you want to see it.”

“I don’t need friends, I like being alone.”

“I’ve already allowed you to leave Gotham Academy last year, and since then you’ve only ever moped about the house, obsessing over your parents’ death and doing nothing to maintain the image they built up for the family.” Bruce’s frown deepened and he glared down at the table. Alfred’s expression softened and he sat down opposite him. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but it’s the truth. And as your guardian, I will not allow you to continue this life of isolation.”

“I’m not isolated.” Bruce muttered. “I have Selina.”

“ _Miss_ _Kyle,”_ the butler replied frostily, “is not exactly the good company I had in mind.”

“And you think some random orphan will be better? Is it just because I’m an orphan too? You think we have some sort of magical connection or something?” Bruce scoffed, rolling his eyes. Alfred sighed.

“Even with your parents gone, the press has continued to stick their nose into your family’s affairs, and one of the more pressing questions that tends to rise up is what will happen to the organizations your mother was involved in. The Martha Wayne Charity Foundation was one of the most influential organizations in the city, and with no figurehead, the public needs to be reassured that the Wayne family will not let it fall by the wayside. This won't just be good for you, it’ll also help prove to all those watching eyes that you value everything your family stood for as well.”

“Oh, I see, so this is a publicity thing. Don't you think that’s manipulative?” Bruce countered.

“There is nothing manipulative about maintaining a good standing in the public eye.” Alfred said sternly. “That is something you must learn if you truly want to carry on your parents’ legacy. It’s part of being a Wayne.”

“Why don’t I just donate a lot of money to the foundation?” Bruce argued. “Then everyone’s happy and nothing has to change.”

"You're missing the point, Master Bruce. Legally, I am your guardian, and it is my responsibility to do whatever is best for you. It doesn’t take an expert to know that shutting yourself away from the world is the very worst thing you can do to yourself, and I am not going to stand by and let that happen.” Alfred gestured at Bruce with the folder in his hand to emphasize his point. “Whether you like it or not, that’s the truth, and you know it.”

“I’m perfectly _fine_ by myself…” Bruce repeated, but Alfred cut him off.

“You have to think of your future, Master Bruce. Someday you will be in charge of your father’s company, and you won’t be able to be alone anymore. If you cut everyone off now, you’re just delaying the inevitable future anyway. And besides, you can’t argue your way out of this one. I’ve made arrangements for everything and have no intention of going back on any of it. So you will either learn to appreciate this, or you will at _least_ be hospitable to our guest.”

“I don’t even know who he _is.”_ Bruce tried, with less enthusiasm this time. When Alfred put his foot down, there was no use arguing the point. “Did you just choose some random orphan and invite him to the house just like that?”

“No.” Alfred turned back to the stove, pouring himself a cup of tea. “In fact, I went to great lengths to find someone who would share your similar interests, with whom you could actually build a friendship if you weren’t so intent on making this difficult.”

“How long does he have to stay?” Bruce asked begrudgingly, knowing that it didn’t make any difference to ask. Alfred had made his decision, and that was that. It was impossible to change his mind.

“Six months.” the butler replied over his shoulder, and Bruce’s eyes widened.

“Six _months?”_ he echoed, and Alfred raised an eyebrow.

“Would you rather go back to Gotham Academy and continue your studies among your peers?”

Bruce didn’t respond…they both knew the answer to that. Still, he couldn’t resist shooting an irate glare at the butler as he reluctantly flipped through the folder on the table. “So you met him already? What’s he like?”  
“If you’re worried about him disturbing the peace around here, Master Bruce, don’t be. Barely said a word to me the whole time.”

“Doesn’t sound like it’ll make much of a difference if he’s here then or not.” Bruce tried again, and Alfred pursed his lips.

“Why are you so dead set against any sort of human interaction, Master Bruce? You have no problem with Miss Kyle popping in all hours of the day and night without so much as an invitation or warning. I would think that this would be a bit of a step up for you.”

“Selina’s my friend, Alfred.” Bruce protested. “And I _wanted_ to be her friend. There’s a difference.”

The butler shrugged. “Then I suppose you will have to find a way to cope with this overwhelming burden of having another friend. However will you manage?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “That sounds like sarcasm to me.”

“Impeccable observation skills as always.” Alfred smiled serenely. Bruce sighed, slumping back down in his seat.

“Whatever.” Moodily scanning the pages of the folder, he picked up the photo of a red-haired boy, staring at the camera with wide eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses. He looked like a scared deer in the headlights, and Bruce couldn’t help feeling another shot of annoyance. He wasn’t even sure why he was annoyed…maybe at this point, it was just obligatory. “I still think Xander is a weird name.”

Alfred glanced up. “And it will cost you no effort whatsoever to keep that thought to yourself, Master Bruce.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

 

Bruce was curled up in the corner of the couch in the study, absorbed in a book, when the doorbell rang. Alfred, who had been busy dusting bookshelves in the other half of the room, looked up and straightened his jacket. 

“That would be our guest. You’ll have the decency to come greet him, I hope?”

“Well, you haven’t really given me much of a choice in any of this, have you?” he responded, half-hoping the butler wouldn’t hear him. But it was apparent by the look on his face that he had.

Alfred ushered Bruce out of the study. “I have utmost faith that sharing your home with someone who could _potentially_ be your friend will not kill you, sir.”

“You never can tell.” Bruce couldn’t resist retorting. Alfred ignored him as he opened the front door. 

“Good morning, Master Wilde. It’s a pleasure seeing you again.”

Bruce glanced indifferently at the red-haired boy standing on the doorstep, staring back at him. He looked like he did in the picture Bruce had seen, except his brown eyes were even wider and his expression was even more nervous, if that was possible. 

_It’s just a house. Not exactly something to freak out over._ he thought sarcastically.

Alfred was inviting the boy inside, and he obeyed silently, his gaze darting back and forth between Bruce and his butler. Bruce, determined to show Alfred that he _could_ be polite even if he wasn’t happy about this in the slightest, stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m Bruce.”

The boy took it hesitantly. “Nice to meet you.” His voice was almost too soft to hear, and he quickly pulled his hand away, adjusting his glasses and staring at the wall of family portraits behind Bruce. 

Alfred cleared his throat. “Master Bruce, why don't you show our guest to the room I’ve made up for him? Perhaps you two can talk a bit and get to know each other.” His face clearly showed his double meaning: _Your parents would have wanted you to be a friendly host._

Bruce shrugged. “Okay.” He gestured for the redhead to follow him, which he did, still silent. They went upstairs and into the hallway that led into the guest bedrooms. Bruce opened the closest door and stepped inside. “This one’s yours.” It was just down the hall from Bruce’s own room, and the same size. French windows covered part of one wall and a fireplace was built into one of the corners. Bruce hadn’t exactly seen many bedrooms that weren’t in his own house, but he didn’t imagine this one was much different than any ordinary room in any ordinary house. 

The boy stood in the doorway, staring at everything around him and fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Bruce nodded impatiently. “You’re allowed to come in, you know.”

A faint flush stole up his cheeks and the boy shuffled in, running a hand absently across the crown molding that stood out halfway up the wall. Bruce watched him, wondering if he should leave him alone. But no, Alfred would send him right back up again. 

“So, you’re Xander Wilde. Is that your real name?”

The boy’s gaze snapped to him sharply. “Yes.”

Bruce sensed the hostility that had flooded his tone and raised an eyebrow. "I was just asking. It’s a weird name.”

Some of the hostility dissipated, and Xander smiled uncertainly. “I know.”

They were both silent, and Bruce resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Was he supposed to keep up this conversation all by himself? He opened his mouth to speak, but the other boy beat him to it.

“Why is there a fireplace?” He nodded at the corner of the room. Bruce shrugged.

“To warm up the room when it’s cold, obviously.”

“But it’s a bedroom.” 

“Bedrooms get cold too.”

“It’s just strange.” he said softly. Bruce frowned.

“What, you’ve never seen a bedroom with a fireplace?”

He shook his head, smiling faintly. “It’s not really something you see every day.”

Bruce paused at that. Maybe it was just something exclusive to Wayne Manor, or other big houses. Did regular sized homes not have that? Alfred’s voice echoed in his head. _Maybe if you got out more, made some friends, you would know things like that._ That annoyed him, and he decided to change the subject.

“Did you want to come here?”

Xander looked up from reading a plaque on the wall that listed the Wayne family history, surprised. Bruce wondered why that plaque was in a guest bedroom. No one would bother to read a lineage of someone else’s family. Well, aside from this particular guest. “Your butler asked me to.”

Bruce pulled on a loose string on the quilt that covered the bed. “Yeah, but did you actually _want_ to come? I mean, you didn’t just say yes to be polite, did you? You don’t even know me.”

“I’ve seen you on TV before.” he pointed out.

“That’s different. Do you even know why Alfred asked you to come here?”

Xander was silent for a moment, still engrossed in his surroundings. “He said it had to do with your mother’s programs she made when she was alive. The charity foundation.”

“Right, but did he say anything else?” Why was it so hard to get this guy to talk? Bruce was giving him every opportunity to say anything he wanted, but he didn’t seem to notice. Maybe he just didn’t like talking. _It’s going to be pretty quiet around here if that’s the case._

He shrugged with one shoulder. “That you wanted to start an organization where you’d invite one of the local orphans to stay with you at the manor for six months and maybe develop a work-study program. That’s all.”

_Well, that’s a good thing Alfred told you, because he didn’t tell_ me _any of that._ Bruce thought ironically. “And then he invited you?”

“Yes.” He glanced sideways at Bruce. “I thought you knew all that already.”

Not wanting to look like he had been one-upped by his own butler, Bruce tried to act nonchalant. “Oh, I knew it. I just wanted to see how he was posing it to other people.”

Xander gave him a long look but didn’t say anything. 

Bruce tried once again to redirect the conversation. “So what do you like to do for fun?” He really couldn’t care less how the redhead spent his waking hours, but it was better than nothing. And if Alfred came in, he would see that Bruce was being nice enough. Besides, this guy wasn’t terrible. Bruce wasn’t exactly going to leap at the chance to be best friends with him or anything, but still, it could have been worse.

“I…design things.” was the vague response, and despite beginning to warm up to him, Bruce wanted to throttle his companion for forcing _him_ to talk so much. He never had this problem with Selina. He could say one word and she’d carry the rest of the conversation for hours. He didn’t have to say a word if he didn’t want to. But apparently that wasn’t going to work for Xander. 

“What kind of things? Like clothes or whatever?” His words came out a little too derisive and Xander seemed to shrink away from him for a moment. 

“No…engineering stuff. I…I’ve worked on a couple projects for the city before.” He ducked his head and stared at the carpet as if he was confessing a crime. Bruce’s interest was sparked, but there was no way he was letting anyone know that. No way he was going to prove to Alfred that he had been right all along and that maybe a friend wouldn’t be such a terrible idea. And he was still annoyed that Xander didn’t seem to want to talk to him. _Maybe he’s shy. But still. He should be friendly, at least._ He realized the irony of his thoughts, and pushed them aside.

“Projects for the city?” he echoed. “How’d you do that? Aren’t you still in high school?”  
“They let me graduate early.” Xander explained almost apologetically, still staring at the floor. “Last year, when I was fourteen.” He dragged his gaze slowly up to meet Bruce’s face. “That’s when I met your father.”

Bruce froze. “What?” The word came out much too vulnerable for his taste. He tried again. “You…knew my father?”  
Xander stared at him. “I thought you knew that.”

“Well, obviously not or I wouldn’t be asking you.” Bruce snapped, instantly regretting it when the other boy’s face fell and he drew his shoulders up defensively. He tried to soften his tone despite his shock. “I didn’t know.”

“He…he had me work on some of the original plans for Wayne Plaza.” Xander explained hesitantly. “I only met him twice.”

“You helped build Wayne Plaza?” Bruce echoed.

“I just wrote up some of the plans. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“That _is_ a big deal!” Bruce argued. “I mean, Wayne Plaza’s a big part of the city. And you designed it?”

“Just some of it. It really wasn’t much.” Xander said quietly, looking back down at the floor. 

“Why weren’t you at the opening?” Bruce remembered that day…it had only been about two weeks before his parents had been shot. Back when they’d had no idea that anything bad could possibly happen, and they’d continue living their lives perfectly normal. But he didn’t remember the redhead being there at all.

“I just…” He shrugged. “I didn’t really want to go.” He looked defensive again, as if Bruce was going to be disappointed. 

“Does Alfred know you met my father?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe. Like I said, I only met him twice. He was nice, though.” Xander’s expression was faraway, thoughtful. “That was the same year your parents died.”  
Bruce winced at the other’s matter-of-fact tone, the pain of that day still fresh, even after an entire year. “Yes.”

Xander glanced at him, eyes behind the glasses filled with sudden concern. “I’m sorry.”

Bruce tried to shake off the cold feeling that came over him every time he thought about that night, the way the sound of the gunshots still echoed in his head so loudly that they sounded real. “It’s okay.”

They were both silent again, avoiding eye contact, until Xander spoke up of his own accord for the first time. “You didn’t want me to come here, did you?”

Bruce, taken aback at how quickly his facade of pseudo-friendliness had been broken, was at loss for words. He cleared his throat and looked around the room, trying to stall for time. But there was no one else to break into the conversation, and he couldn’t just ignore a question like that.

“You didn’t answer my first question.” he replied with a sudden flash of inspiration. “Do _you_ want to be here?”

Xander tilted his head. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“So are you.” Bruce noted.

The redhead went back to making a pretense at reading the plaque on the wall again. “I thought it was nice of your butler to ask me. And it’s a nice house. A lot bigger than anyplace _I’ve_ ever seen before.”

“But you don’t want to be here.”

He looked at Bruce out of the corner of his eye. “And you don’t want me here.”

And just like that, they’d come full circle. Bruce drummed his fingers on the bed, trying to think up an answer. “It’s not necessarily that, it’s just…” He searched for the right words. “Alfred thinks I need more friends, so he’s using this as an excuse to make me hang out with you. For six whole months. It’s not really about my mother’s programs or anything, even though that’s probably part of it. It’s just that Alfred doesn’t want me to be alone.”

“Do you not want any friends?” Xander looked at him, wide-eyed. Bruce shrugged. 

“I don’t think I need to know a million people to be happy. I like being alone.”

“Oh.” They looked uncertainly at one another, Xander’s gaze faltering first as he glanced away. Bruce scratched the back of his neck. This conversation hadn’t gone the way he’d wanted it to at all. He tried to fix it as best he could.

“Maybe it’s just because it’s always just been me around here. I mean, I don’t have any brothers or sisters.” Xander didn’t say anything, and Bruce looked up. “Do you?”

“Do I what?” The other boy adjusted his glasses again, unconsciously running a hand over his hair as well. 

“Have any brothers or sisters.” Bruce repeated. Xander stared at him for a moment, then licked his lips and shook his head.

“No.”

It was only one word, but there was something about it that didn’t ring quite true to Bruce. Still, he wasn’t going to argue the point. And besides, Alfred chose that moment to enter the room and tell them lunch was ready, so Bruce didn’t have time to question Xander’s response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I had to make Bruce kinda ooc in these first few chapters, but eventually he'll be more like the Bruce we know and love from the show XD)
> 
> Hope you liked it! Thanks for reading! :)


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

 

“What’re you doing?” Bruce asked, poking his head around the study door. Xander, who had apparently been so absorbed in his work he hadn’t heard him enter, jumped and looked up with startled eyes. Bruce held up his hands. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to scare you or anything.”

The other boy had been at the manor for two days now, and ever since Bruce had shown him the study with its walls lined with countless books, he’d hunted down every single volume on engineering with more enthusiasm than anything he’d shown up to that point. When Bruce had found him reading by faint lamplight at midnight the night before in the corner of the study and had told him, with some annoyance at the fact that he actually had to go out of his way to _tell_ him, that he could bring the books with him to his room, the look on Xander’s face was as if someone had just given him a million dollars. Bruce had brushed the matter aside, but he had begun to wonder what the other’s life had been like before they’d met…he still knew next to nothing about the quiet redhead, aside from that he’d met Thomas Wayne. If such a tiny thing like being allowed to borrow a book could mean so much to him, he wondered if that was any reflection of how he had lived in the past. But Bruce wasn’t one to jump to conclusions without sufficient evidence, and he hadn’t found a chance to slip in any sort of inquiry about his guest’s former life into conversations. For now, he was in the dark about it all.

Today, Xander was back in the study, concentrated on something he was drawing on a sketchpad he’d brought with him. He was curled up in the giant wing chair that sat near the mahogany desk, his red hair ruffled like he had been running his hands through it, and his glasses askew on his nose. Bruce noticed he was left-handed, and his right hand rested against the side of his face as he tilted his head to survey whatever he had been drawing. It was the first time he’d actually looked…well, not so impeccably neat, Bruce thought, and it was sort of funny. He cleared his throat. “Alfred was wondering if you wanted dinner.”

Xander looked surprised, then craned his neck to look out the window behind him. Seeing the sun setting behind the manor gate, he shot up in dismay, losing half of the pages of the sketchbook in the process.

“I didn’t realize what time it was…” he began anxiously, but Bruce shook his head.

“Alfred was just asking. You don’t need to rush or anything. It’s not like there’s anyone else around here we’re holding up.” He bent down to pick of one of the stray papers and glanced at it. “What’re you drawing?” Narrowing his eyes, he tried to follow the crowded lines that crossed the page in neat, but incomprehensible, patterns. “Mazes?”

Xander’s face flushed and he clutched the sketchbook to his chest, almost possessively. “Sort of.” he said shortly, shuffling the papers into order again. Bruce looked up.

“Sort of mazes? What does that mean?” 

“Um…it’s architectural. Mazes for…for a house, I guess.”

“So something that could be built?” Bruce asked curiously. _At least,_ he thought, _he’s not boring_. Weirdly quiet, yes. But not boring. He didn’t exactly want to admit Alfred had been right, but he’d started to realize that it was sort of okay having someone else around. Selina hadn’t dropped by in a few days and when he had nothing to do, there was at least someone to talk to. Even if he was the only one talking most of the time. 

Part of him wondered why he’d been so against this in the first place. But the other part insisted stubbornly that he would have bene perfectly fine on his own, and just because he and Xander could be friendly didn’t automatically mean they were _friends_. They’d only known each other for two days, after all. 

“Yeah, it could be. Theoretically.” Xander cleared his throat and straightened his glasses, shifting the sketchbook back and forth between his hands. “If someone wanted something like that for their house.” His tone was tentative, as if he wasn’t sure if the young billionaire was genuinely interested or if he was mocking him. 

Bruce raised an eyebrow, still trying to find the center of the maze that was much more complicated than it had seemed at first. “Why would anyone build a _house_ like that? You’d have to figure out your way through an entire labyrinth just to get inside.”

“I don’t know.” From Xander’s tone it was clear that he _did_ know, and had a perfectly reasonable explanation, but he had no intention of saying anything further. _Because he’s apparently allergic to any sort of normal human conversation._ Bruce thought, somewhat sarcastically. 

“It would take up a lot of space.” he mused, tilting the paper to decipher the pattern.

“Maybe it could be underground.” the other boy said quietly, looking up.

“Who would want to live like that?” Bruce shuddered. Sure, he liked to be alone, but alone in an underground maze? _You would have to be a complete recluse for that. And someone who doesn’t mind having the most boring life ever._

Xander shrugged, looking like he wanted to say something, but not wanting to dispute Bruce’s declaration. In the silence between them, Alfred appeared in the study door, dishcloth in hand.

“If either of you would care for a bite of supper…” he began, and Bruce passed the paper in his hand back to Xander. 

“Sorry Alfred, I forgot.” He glanced from the butler to the redhead, who was watching them both wordlessly, and nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”

Xander set down the sketchbook on the chair and followed him down the hall, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking with interest at each painting and artifact they passed on the way. Bruce caught him staring up at one of the family pictures that had been taken just a year before Thomas and Martha died, and turned back. Alfred disappeared around the corner, leaving them standing alone in the hall. 

“You all look so happy.” Xander murmured, sensing Bruce coming up alongside him. For a moment, something like resentment flashed across his face, then it was gone, replaced by careful neutrality. Bruce looked sideways at him.

“Alfred made me wear that outfit.” He gestured to the blue cable knit sweater his eleven-year-old self was wearing in the picture, a rueful smile crossing his face. “I hated it. It was scratchy and too hot and I never wore it after that.” _Wow, you’re the worst at small talk._

“I think it looks nice.” 

Bruce scoffed, not unkindly, and more at himself than Xander. “Thanks.” They were both silent for a moment, and the question Bruce had been itching to ask for the past two days rose up again. He’d been avoiding it, not knowing if he should ask it, or if it would be _wrong,_ somehow, but his curiosity was getting the better of him, and Xander was so closed off that he would never get answers just by waiting for them. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back, his eyes still fixed on the portrait. “Do you remember your own family?”

Xander didn’t say anything at first, and Bruce detected the slightest change in his expression. Not a single muscle in his face moved, but the look in his eyes became more guarded, almost clouded over, and his posture stiffened. “My family?” he echoed, as if he hadn’t heard Bruce the first time. There was something in his voice, too, that was different. It sounded sort of strained, like he didn’t even want to speak the words aloud. The latter nodded uncertainly.

“Have they…been gone long?” Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything…they’d only just met each other, really, and it wasn’t any of his business. _He hasn’t asked you anything about your parents, it’s not fair you should be asking about his. Not when he hasn’t said anything himself._ But then, no one had to ask what had happened to the Waynes…anyone who lived in Gotham knew what had happened. 

Xander drew in a long breath, his eyes still fixed on the picture in front of him. The silence suddenly seemed much too heavy, like there was an added tension that hadn’t been there until just now. But when he spoke, he didn’t sound upset…more like he was reciting something he’d rehearsed in his head a hundred times before.

“It was just me and my mother. And she didn’t die, she wanted me to have a better life than what she could give me, so she brought me to Gotham when I was eleven and left me here. I haven’t heard from her since then.” He still didn’t look at Bruce, who nodded sympathetically.

“Where did you live before that?” _You should stop asking questions. He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it._ But Xander still showed no signs of annoyance. Then again, he generally _was_ as unreadable as a brick wall. For all Bruce knew, he could be seething with anger at this very moment.

“A…a lot of places.” he replied hesitantly, twisting his hands together. There was still a veiled, faraway look in his eyes that somehow made him look younger than his fifteen years, and for the briefest of moments, a glimmer of raw fear broke through the guardedness of his expression. Bruce, whose gaze had traveled back to the family portrait, didn’t notice, and it was so quick that even someone watching his face would have missed it. “We never stayed in the same spot for very long.” he finished softly, and Bruce knew that was as far as he would elaborate. 

“Do you miss her?” The question slipped out before he could stop himself, and Xander _did_ look at him then. His expression looked so lost, so conflicted for a moment before he disguised it with nonchalance, that Bruce felt, for the first time, a real connection with the other boy. He remembered how lost _he’d_ felt that long year ago, sitting huddled on the fire escape steps in that dark alley as police lights flashed around him and everything had been blurring in and out of focus. He remembered how he couldn’t quite believe he was alone then, only knew that his parents were dead…it was all seared into his memory, as clear and fresh as if it had happened just yesterday. 

Sometimes he still couldn’t really believe they were gone…he would almost convince himself that they were just on a business trip or out of the house for the day, and by nighttime they would be back home. But then night would come and reality would set in again, and the manor would seem much too big and much too lonely. Because, as much as he wanted to deny it, Bruce _was_ lonely. He hadn’t even realized it himself until Xander had arrived, he’d grown so used to the silence, only occasionally broken by Selina. And maybe Xander was lonely too. If his own mother had left him alone…

_I guess we aren’t so different._

“I don’t think about her much.” Xander said flatly, almost too quiet for Bruce to hear. “Since I probably won’t ever see her again.” His tone was diplomatic, as if he was explaining the most mundane of facts, and if he felt any differently about it, his face didn’t betray anything. 

“Oh.” Bruce wished he had something nice to say, maybe something comforting, but nothing would come to mind. He didn’t have to say anything, though, because Xander seemed to shake off the shadow of whatever depths of memory he had descended into, and continued down the hall. Bruce fell in step with him, following his gaze to the different pictures and statues they passed, and wishing he had the gift of knowing the right thing to say at the right time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These first few chapters are kinda short and I know there's not a ton happening plot-wise, but the plot'll start to pick up pretty soon so stay tuned! :P


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

 

Bruce flipped carefully through his notebook, the one he’d painstakingly filled with every scrap of evidence he could use to prove Wayne Enterprises’ connection with illegal activity. Everything he needed was there…the lists of budget cuts and unexplained amounts disappearing from accounts, land that had been purchased without Thomas Wayne’s approval, printed copies of messages sent back and forth between colleagues during the past year. Bruce brushed his hand across the open page, his eyes straying to the drawings that filled the margins. Dark, shapeless pictures he’d mindlessly doodled during those long days of diligent research, sitting at his father’s desk, lost in thought. Maybe he’d better get rid of them…it wouldn’t help his case if the Wanye Enterprises board thought he was just a little kid drawing in his notebook as he investigated his parents’ company.

_No,_ he decided, closing the book firmly. _Even if they underestimate me now, it won’t be long before I can run the company, and then they’ll see how serious I am about this. I’m not giving up._

“I’m _not.”_ he muttered, half to reassure himself. He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone in the study until the redhead in the corner looked up.

“You’re not what?’ 

Bruce glanced at him, embarrassed at having been so caught up in his internal monologue, and made a pretense of searching through his notes again. “Nothing, I…I was just thinking of what I’ll say to the board when I meet them today.”

Xander looked at him with admiration shining in his eyes. “You’re really going to talk to them?” he echoed, in a tone that sounded like Bruce had just announced he had the solution to world peace. 

“I have to. Before the evidence goes cold. I can’t stand by and watch my family’s company become corrupted.” Bruce drew himself up, straightening his shoulders. “That’s not what they would have wanted me to do.”

Xander nodded contemplatively, absorbing his every word. Then a flash of concern crossed his face and he frowned, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “But what if it’s too late to save it? I mean…it could be too far gone. If no one has been regulating the decisions for an entire year…”

Bruce shook his head decidedly. “No. It’s not too late. It’s never too late to fix things. Even if they’re terrible people…things could change.” He wasn’t sure if he believed his own words completely, but it was the only thing he _could_ believe. If he didn’t…there would be no point in any of this. He might as well let Wayne Enterprises continue spiraling down whatever dark path it was going and never think about it again. No, he _had_ to believe things could change, maybe get better, or there was no hope for anything.

Xander chewed his lip uncertainly. “I’m sure you could save the company. But the people…Bruce, if they’re really as corrupt as you say they are, you might not be in time to save _them_.” His gaze drifted toward the window, where the sun was casting long rays of golden light into the room. “Or stop them. From whatever they’re planning.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair and making it stand on end before crossing his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. “They _could_ be like that. But I don’t want to believe that. People aren’t _all_ bad.”

Xander laughed at that, suddenly and humorlessly, and his brown eyes, with the sun reflecting in their irises, filled with a bitter expression. Drawing his knees up to his chest and lacing his fingers together, he shook his head. “Sometimes they are.” The moment he spoke, the bitterness disappeared, swallowed up in a cold, distant look that Bruce had seen on his face several times before. He recognized it as a shield, and it was unbreakable. Whether Xander had had years of practice in hiding whatever was going through his mind, or if he was just remarkably good at withdrawing into himself (Bruce had no doubt on his competence for _that_ particular skill), he could become as unreadable as a blank slate when he wanted to. 

But that didn’t mean Bruce wasn’t insatiably curious about whatever secrets Xander was hiding. In fact, it made him all the more eager to discover them.

Still, he knew better than to ask about it now. There was an oddly dangerous edge to the cold exterior the redhead would assume, a quiet challenge in his eyes. As if he was silently warning Bruce to not break through the facade he had built up around himself and expose whatever the truth might be. Perhaps for both their sakes.

Bruce realized they were staring at each other, and the silence in the room had grown very heavy. He cleared his throat and looked back at his notebook, absentmindedly tapping the spiral binding as he flipped through the last few pages. “Do you want to come with me?”

Xander’s eyes grew as big as saucers as his stare snapped back to Bruce. “What?”

“To Wayne Enterprises. Do you want to come with me?”

He pressed his back against the wing chair as if he was trying to disappear. “Why?” His voice was small and he looked almost scared. Bruce blinked in surprise at the shift.

Just moments ago, he had been indecipherable in his emotions. Now it was all written plainly across his face like an open book…fear, uncertainty, anxiety. Bruce wondered what had caused the switch. What had they been talking about that had caused the other boy to shut down so thoroughly just moments ago, and what had made him decide to open back up again? He was even more confused, but it wasn’t something he could dwell on, at least at the moment. That was the least of his problems right now.

Realizing Xander had asked him a question, he shook his head, his thoughts coming back to the present. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“Why’d you ask me to come with you?” he repeated quietly, his brow furrowed.

“Because—” Bruce paused. _Because what?_ He had no reason for Xander to go with him. He wasn’t even involved in the Wayne Enterprises problem. And he only knew what Bruce had told him about it, just the tip of the iceberg. He probably couldn’t care less about it all and didn’t even want to go.

So why had Bruce asked him?

Like the voice of reason itself, or some such infallible deity, Alfred’s voice emerged from Bruce’s thoughts. _Perhaps you did need a friend, Master Bruce._

Bruce straightened the jacket he’d picked out to wear to Wayne Enterprises…one he hoped made him look older than his thirteen years, and maybe help him look like he knew what he was doing in front of the board. Picking up his notebook and tucking it under his arm, he gave Xander the first genuine smile in their two weeks of knowing each other. Something in his chest lifted, like a heavy weight had been dragged away. 

“I thought it’d be nice to have a friend with me.”

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

Their footsteps echoed in the silence of the empty foyer, and when the heavy doors swung shut behind them, the sound felt much too loud. Bruce took everything in with wide eyes, memories flooding back with such suddenness and intensity that he almost wanted to turn and run. Memories of coming here as a little kid, running across the veined marble floors as his mother stood in the corner, smiling at him. Listening in on the conversations of absorbed businessmen who passed by, wondering what sort of things they kept in their briefcases and if they let their kids pick out their ties every day just like Thomas Wayne let Bruce do. Tracing the scores of names etched into the wall, lists of people who had contributed to the company and its work. How he’d always searched for his father’s name first, running a finger along the smooth lettering and whispering the words under his breath. 

He’d grown up in this building; it was a part of him. And now the company and everything it stood for was in danger of being destroyed by greedy board members and corrupt chairmen. Bruce squared his shoulders. This was his family’s legacy…he wasn’t going to lose it like he had lost them.

He couldn’t.

He didn’t realize he had drifted over to the wall and laid a hand over the carved letters of his father’s name until his thoughts came back to the moment. Blinking, he stepped back, glancing dazedly at Xander, who stood beside him. Alfred was there too, but stood a little way off, examining some trophy that sat on display near the staircase. 

“You miss them, don’t you?” Xander asked softly. If Bruce could see his face, he would have caught a glimpse of momentary envy in the other’s eyes. But it was there and gone too quick to be seen, and Bruce didn’t take his gaze away from the wall in front of him.

“Sometimes I forget they’re gone.” he admitted slowly, the cold marble on the wall oddly comforting to the touch. It was familiar; grounding. Something he knew, in the midst of all this uncertainty. “It’s always on my mind, but sometimes I forget, too.” He paused, shaking his head. “I know that doesn’t make any sense, but…”

“It makes sense.” Xander said, and Bruce glanced at him gratefully before turning back to the list of names stretching along the wall in front of him. 

“Do you think…” He drew in a long breath, trying to say what was in his head, “Do you think they’d, you know, think I was doing the right thing? Investigating these people, I mean. What if it tears apart the company?” The unspoken question lingered silently in the air between them. _What if I’m the one who destroys everything they worked for?_

Xander shook his head emphatically. “I think your father would have wanted you to.” For a moment, he said nothing more, and Bruce thought he would leave it at that, but then he continued, “You would have had to do something eventually anyway. Bad people won’t just go away. And the longer they stay, the stronger they get.” His tone was faraway, as if he wasn’t really talking to Bruce anymore, and his expression had grown closed-off again. “And before you know it, something happens and it’s too late to do anything.”

Bruce nodded slowly, wondering if he should say anything in response to that. If there was anything to say at all. He watched Xander’s eyes flicker from one name to the next on the wall, resting on one longer than the others. Bruce followed his gaze, then his own eyes widened. “That’s you!” 

The red-haired boy shrugged, turning his stare to the ground. Bruce traced the letters spelling out _Xander Wilde_ with unfiltered admiration on his face. “For the Wayne Plaza project?”

“Yeah.” He shuffled his feet, looking like he wanted to disappear into the floor, and Bruce didn’t press the matter. He already knew Xander balked at unwanted attention, and he probably hated flattery just as much, if his reaction was any indication. Fortunately, before he had to think of something else to say, the ringing from the Gotham Clock Tower a block away announced that it was two o’clock, five minutes before the meeting with the board. Bruce clutched his notebook and gestured for Xander to follow him before mounting the stairs that led to the offices above. Alfred followed them, his polished shoes tapping against the equally polished floor.

Before he knew it, Bruce was standing outside the office where the board members had been gathering, his heart in his throat. He had planned this out so carefully, down the the tiniest detail, and yet his mind was suddenly blank. He didn’t know what to say, how to speak to these people who had worked with his father…his own _father,_ who had entrusted the care of his company to him and would never want it to decay into something corrupt and worthless. But Thomas Wayne had been a man, experienced in the world of business, and revered among his colleagues. Standing in front of the close office door, staring down at the black spiral-bound school notebook in his hands, Bruce was seized with a terrible feeling of helplessness. 

The same thing he had felt as he’d watched the masked man in the alley gun down his parents in front of him.

_They would want you to do this._

Trying to distract himself from it all, Bruce turned to Xander. “Do you want to come in with me?”

The other boy’s face drained of color and he unconsciously backed away, tensing. Bruce wondered what he had said wrong…he knew Xander liked to be alone, and probably wasn’t very fond of crowds, but he didn’t look just uncomfortable. 

He looked terrified.

A thought shot through Bruce’s head with sudden clarity. _He’s hiding from something._ As soon as it crossed his mind, he knew it was true. The way the redhead kept his past so very vague, how he’d been so nervous meeting Bruce, how he hated talking about his work on Wayne Plaza, something that had been met with such extensive coverage on the news, and even now, seemed horrified at the prospect of meeting Gotham’s elite…he had to be hiding from something. Or someone. That much was clear.

_But what? Or who?_ Xander was the least confrontational person he’d ever met, and Bruce doubted he would ever willingly start an argument with anyone. How could someone like that have an enemy? And if he hadn’t ever stayed in the same place while he’d lived with his mother, he wouldn’t have had the time to establish any rivalry with anyone. 

_Who is he hiding from?_

Bruce realized guiltily that Xander was still staring at him, anxiety written across his pale face. Although he tried to hide it, Bruce noticed his hands were trembling as he pressed them tightly together. “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want.” he said quickly. “If you’re okay with staying out here by yourself.”

Xander nodded wordlessly, letting out a shaking breath. Alfred, who had been talking to a passing businessman, hadn’t noticed anything that had happened, but he glanced at his watch and then gestured for Bruce to open the door. “Time to face the lions, eh?” 

Bruce summoned the bravest smile he could and nodded, then turned the handle and stepped inside the office. 

\+ + + + + + + + +

 

“They shouldn’t have ignored you.” Xander’s eyes flashed with a furious light that Bruce hadn’t seen before, and it changed his expression completely. Usually so reserved, he now looked ready to personally attack every single individual unlucky enough to be on the Wayne Enterprises board of directors. Maybe not attack them _physically…_ Bruce was hard-pressed to not laugh at the mental image of his friend in a fistfight with anyone…but he certainly looked like he would have no qualms about making some very biting remarks to the board in general. Bruce tried to reassure him.

“It’ll be fine. They might not be listening to me now, but I’m not going to stop investigating Wayne Enterprises until I find out what’s going on. And what are they going to do to stop me? It’s my family’s business, which makes it _my_ business. One way or another, I’ll put an end to this.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t even give you a _chance.”_ the redhead scowled, crossing his arms. Bruce gave a half-smile.

“Maybe it’s better that way. If they don’t think I’m capable of taking them down, then they won’t be trying to stop me. It won’t be until I’ve uncovered every secret and crime that’s been committed when they’ll realize what’s happened, and by then it’ll be too late for them.”

Xander nodded reluctantly, though there was still a spark of anger in his eyes. “I guess.”

“It’ll all work out in the end, you’ll see.” Bruce insisted, more for his benefit than anything else. Despite his optimism, it was disheartening to know the board still viewed him as a child who didn’t deserve to have a say in his own company’s workings. Even if it would help him in his investigations, it was painful to hear. “They can’t keep running the company forever. Someday they’ll have to retire, and I’ll hire a completely new board of directors, and then Wayne Enterprises can really get a fresh start. It’ll work out, somehow.”

Xander, who had been drawing in his sketchbook during the conversation, absently doodled random lines along the margins as he stared into the flames Alfred had kindled in the fireplace. “It must be hard for you, though, seeing this happen to your own company.”

For such a withdrawn person, he was startlingly blunt sometimes. Bruce shrugged, sighing. “I just hope maybe there’ll be a time when things go back to normal.” 

“But they won’t.” Xander muttered, mostly to himself. Bruce looked up.

“They could _.”_

The redhead looked startled, as if he hadn’t meant to say the words aloud, then he went back to sketching, avoiding eye contact. The scratch of pencil on paper seemed louder than before. “They won’t though.”

“Okay, not _normal,_ then. But good. There was a time when things were good. And maybe it won’t be the same, because my parents…” He still had trouble saying it, even after a year, “…are still going to be gone, and nothing can go back to the way it was before. But maybe things will at least work out and everything could be okay.”

Xander looked at him thoughtfully, some unspoken emotion hidden in his brown eyes.“You’ll be able to do great things for Gotham, Bruce.” He didn’t say it, but there was something in his tone that whispered, _I wish I could, too._

“You _could.”_ Bruce said aloud, not bothering to elaborate. They both knew what he meant. Xander looked at him in surprise. “You helped design _Wayne Plaza._ When you were _fourteen._ Don’t you realize how crazy that is?” Xander’s jaw tightened. “Normal people can’t do that. Can’t even dream of doing that. But you did, and you won’t take any credit for it. You could do just as many great things for Gotham, if you just gave yourself a chance.”

Conflict played across the other’s face as he stared into the fire, his sketchbook lying abandoned at his fingertips. “It’s complicated, Bruce.” His words were almost inaudible, but Bruce caught them.

“But you could do it. You shouldn’t hold yourself back. Not when you could do so much.”

“I _can’t.”_ he whispered, twisting his hands together and shaking his head. “You don’t understand, I can’t. I’ve got to…” He broke off before he could say anything else.

Bruce looked at him intently. “I could help you. You don’t have to hide if you don’t want to.”

“Who says I’m hiding?” Xander retorted sharply, then flinched at his own tone. His next words were much more careful, to the point of frightened. “Trust me, Bruce, it has to be this way. I don’t…I don’t want it to be anything else.” He didn’t sound like he had even convinced himself of that, and Bruce frowned.

“How about you trust _me?_ I have influence on this city. If you want something, I can get it for you.”

Xander scoffed. “No. You couldn’t.”

“If you would just talk to me…” Bruce started, then stopped when he saw the look on Xander’s face. _You weren’t supposed to cross that line._ He tried hastily to backtrack. “Look, I didn’t mean that, I just meant…”

“I know what you meant, Bruce.” he interrupted, fixing all his attention on his drawings again. “And I’m not _trying_ to hide anything from you.”

“I just…” _Oh great, this is what it’s come to. If Alfred’s listening in, all you’ll be hearing is a constant string of I-told-you-so’s all month._ He shook his head. _Not much else you can do, though._ His mind made up, Bruce leaned forward. “I told you, earlier, that you’re my friend. I didn’t think I’d be friends with you, but I guess I was wrong. And I just wanted you to know that if…I don’t know, if you needed anything, then I could help you. I guess I just sort of tend to do that with people.” He thought about Selina and how he’d tried, on multiple occasions, to give her money or a place to spend the night, even though she’d always refuse indignantly. _Maybe that’s a sign I’m developing a god complex. I hope not._ “I guess I’m saying it’d be nice if you could trust me.”

Xander looked at him cautiously, saying nothing. Bruce scuffed his foot against the carpet as if that would inspire him to say something meaningful. “I realized saying that aloud sounds kind of weird.” He laughed weakly. “And probably like a lot of nonsense. And it’s fine if you don’t want to. I just wanted you to know that you _could_ trust me.”

The other boy was silent after that, his gaze slowly fixing on Bruce’s face. He pushed his glasses up in a motion Bruce was beginning to recognize as a nervous gesture, and looked away for a moment before glancing back. It seemed like he was about to say something, but then he shut his mouth and fiddled restlessly with the pencil in his hand. 

Part of Bruce wanted the conversation to end there, but another part of him didn’t want to abandon his point. For some reason, he wanted Xander to trust him. Maybe it was the vulnerability he saw so often in the other’s eyes, or the way he was so determined to hide away from the world…whatever it was, it was nagging at Bruce and it wasn’t going to give up anytime soon. He cleared his throat quietly.

“I told you the other day that I don’t have any brothers or sisters, it’s just me.” he continued slowly, and Xander looked at him with suspicion. “And I really don’t have any friends, which I probably also said. I didn’t want them. I still don’t. But…but it’s kind of nice having someone to talk to, you know? Just…having someone around. It feels…” He stared up at the ceiling, wondering if the other boy thought he was insane by now. “I don’t know. Complete, somehow. And I’m okay with having a friend, I guess. So that’s why I wanted you to be able to trust me.” 

“Jeremiah.” The redhead muttered, closing the cover of his sketchbook and meeting Bruce’s gaze squarely, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in his own. Bruce tilted his head.

“What?”

He drew in a short breath, clutching the book in his hands with nervous intensity. The silence hung between them before he broke it, his voice wavering and so soft that Bruce had to lean further forward to catch his words.

“My real name is Jeremiah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun...so Big Reveal #1 for Bruce is out of the way...plenty more to go though XD
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

 

Bruce stared, confused, at the other boy, trying to figure out what he’d meant. “You’re saying…” He shook his head, cutting his own words off. “Sorry, I’m just…you mean Xander isn’t your real name?”

The redhead looked at him miserably, fear and conflict playing across his face. “Yes.”

“And your real name is…Jeremiah?” It sounded strange, saying it aloud…it was as if someone had told Bruce his home wasn’t called Wayne Manor or his butler’s name was actually Albert. Yet somehow, it made sense…he thought it was a name that fit the boy in front of him better than “Xander Wilde” had. If Bruce had been asked to explain what he meant by that, he wouldn’t have been able to; it was just _right._

_But why didn’t he tell me that before?_

Bruce began to realize this went much deeper than he’d thought. If he had been registered under a false name…if Thomas Wayne had known him as that to the point of it being the name that would be associated with the creation of Wayne Plaza…this wasn’t something thought up in the spur of the moment. This was a carefully cultivated lie, one that had been built up over what could have been years of practice. It wasn’t just about a name, this was about his identity. Whoever he had been before he’d been left in Gotham by his mother. About erasing that person altogether.

Another thought pushed its way into Bruce’s mind, one he’d been trying to avoid, but it was inevitable. _What if that was a lie too? His mother…her leaving him…_ He’d believed the story Xander—no, _Jeremiah,_ had told him about his past, but only because he’d seen himself reflected in it. He’d _wanted_ to believe it. But now, he wasn’t so sure. 

He still wanted to believe him…but that dark, incessant whisper in the back of his mind wouldn’t let him. _He’s running from something. Hiding. There’s something out there he’s afraid of. He spent so much time creating an entire new identity for himself…a new life, away from…_

_Away from what?_

It was frustrating, and almost unnerving, because Bruce didn’t _know._ He didn’t have any answers. It was only questions, and he doubted he would ever be able to uncover the truth just by asking…if someone was trying to cover up who they really were, they weren’t going to go about revealing their secrets to whoever they met. 

But then…

“Why did you tell me?” Bruce asked, his confusion stirring up again. Jeremiah avoided his stare guiltily, and Bruce saw his hands begin to tremble again before he clasped them together to hide it. 

“I…I don’t know.” he whispered, his voice shaking. He sounded like he was about to cry, but then he lifted his gaze resolutely to Bruce again. “I just…it was an accident.” Tears _did_ brim in his eyes then, and he blinked them back desperately. “I didn’t mean to say anything.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Bruce added quickly, suddenly feeling very helpless. Whatever he was facing here, it was bigger than he could have imagined. He almost _felt_ it…like a bad omen creeping closer and closer. But he didn’t know what it was, or how to stop it. “It’s really okay, I promise. If you don’t want me to tell anyone, I won’t. Really.”

Jeremiah sniffed, twisting his hands in the hem of his shirt. “I don’t know why I told you.” he repeated, his voice no louder than a whisper. “I thought…” He broke off, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

Not wanting to upset him further, Bruce decided to stick to the technical side of things. Maybe offering comfort wasn’t the best tactic at the moment…not when he didn’t even know what was the matter. “Is Wilde your real last name?” he asked slowly, trying to gauge what sort of things he should say. The redhead shook his head, so slightly that the motion was almost imperceptible, but Bruce caught it. “What is it then?” 

Jeremiah swallowed nervously. “I can’t…I can’t tell you, Bruce. If…if something ever…” 

“Okay, that’s fine. You don’t have to.” Bruce brushed aside whatever excuse the other boy was going to give him, then paused. Maybe he shouldn’t have interrupted so quickly; Jeremiah could have said something that would help clear up this confusion. But it was too late now. “But remember I said you could trust me? That if you needed anything, I could help? I still mean it.”

“It’s not about that, Bruce.” he muttered. “This isn’t about _trust._ Because I _do_ trust you.” His tone was hesitant, but Bruce knew it was the truth. Why else would he have suddenly revealed who he really was if he didn’t have some degree of faith in the other? “But this isn’t something you can stop. And it’s not something you can fix.”

“You know I can have a lot of influence on people if I want,” Bruce began, somewhat reluctantly. There was a lot of power attached to the Wayne family name, and he had seen his own parents use it on occasion while they were alive. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to be quite like that…it seemed like sort of a cop-out. If he was really worthy of the name, then he should have the skills to get what he wanted some other way. Still, he was willing to make an exception for Jeremiah, if only because he was his friend.

_Because he_ is _your friend. You’ve admitted that now. And friends help each other if they can._

“No.” Jeremiah said decidedly, wrenching Bruce out of his own thoughts. “I told you, Bruce, you wouldn’t understand.” His voice trembled again, and Bruce realized he had pressed the issue too far. It had already been enough that Jeremiah had revealed his true name to him…now he was trying to pry into whatever other secrets he was holding. 

But then, shouldn’t he at least be entitled to asking a few questions? He’d been lied to, maybe not malevolently, but it was still a lie. And who knew if anything else Jeremiah had told him had been true? 

_You really don’t know anything about him. At all._

_His past…where he came from…_

The boy in front of him could be _anyone._ And Bruce wouldn’t know.

“Why can’t you just give me a chance?” he tried. “I can _try_ to understand, at least.” _Who is he running away from? What could possibly have happened that would have forced him to do all this? To tear down his identity, whoever he was before, hide away from the world…what happened?_

Jeremiah stood up, holding his sketchbook tightly against his chest like an anchor in a storm. “I already told you who I am, Bruce.” He drew his shoulders up defensively, his face pale and lined with anxiety. “Please don’t make me tell you anything more.”

Bruce berated himself for putting his friend on edge like this, but part of him still insisted that he needed to know. There were too many pieces of the puzzle missing, too many unanswered questions. He couldn’t even formulate a clear idea of what Jeremiah could be hiding from, there was so much obscurity masking any details about his life. 

“I’m sorry.” he said eventually, looking up at Jeremiah. “I wasn’t trying to intrude on whatever’s going on. I just wish you’d let me help you.”

“But you _can’t.”_ Jeremiah retorted sharply. Before Bruce could argue, he turned on his heel and left the study. The door swung shut behind him and Bruce was left alone in the room.

“I could’ve.” he muttered to no one in particular. “If you’d give me a chance.”

Jeremiah’s words echoed in the stillness of the room. _I already told you who I am._ Bruce shook his head, frowning. Not in annoyance, but in confusion at everything that had happened. What _had_ happened? And what was he going to tell Alfred? That the boy he’d thought would be the perfect friend for Bruce was hiding so much about his past that he hadn’t even given them his real name? How long had he been posing under that alias, broken off from whatever life he had lived before? Who had he been back then, and why was he trying to escape? 

Because he _was_ escaping. And not just from whoever he was running from.

He was escaping himself. 

_You told me, but I still don’t know who you are._

_I don’t know anything._

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

Selina came by the manor the next week, while Bruce was doing research in the study on the last month’s spendings at Wayne Enterprises and Jeremiah was in the other corner, reading a book. They hadn’t spoken about the conversation they’d had a week before, although Bruce began calling him Jeremiah when there was no one else around. Alfred didn’t know about any of it, which the redhead had been surprised to learn the next morning when he had come downstairs for breakfast. The butler had greeted him as Xander then and showed no signs of being any wiser to what they had gone on the evening before, and Jeremiah had shot a confused yet grateful look at Bruce for not saying anything to Alfred. 

Still, things had been strained between them for a few days. Jeremiah was mostly silent, but Bruce would catch the other boy looking nervously at him from behind whatever book he was reading, as if he was trying to think of something to say to break the quiet. Bruce would smile reassuringly at him (he wished he could say something, but there was nothing he could think of that would break the tension), and Jeremiah would duck his head, going back to whatever he was doing. Bruce wondered if things would eventually revert to how they had been before, or if maybe Jeremiah would finally confide in him whatever he was hiding. Although the redhead gave no indication that the latter would ever happen, the strain began to dispel eventually, and Bruce felt like he could breathe easy again. 

The day Selina came by, he had been listing off numbers of the Wayne Enterprises budget to Jeremiah, who added them up on a page in his sketchbook in between chapters of his book and read them back to Bruce. Even if there were secrets between them, they could at least be friends still, and Bruce wasn’t giving up hope in someday figuring out those secrets. But today, he was much too busy with his work concerning his company to think about that.

“That’s five thousand dollars unaccounted for.” Jeremiah announced, looking up from the scribbled addition he was writing down. “All from the last month.”

Bruce pressed a hand to his forehead, frowning. “I have all the accounts listed here. Even the electric bill. The money’s just disappearing.”

“Do you think someone’s just taking it for themselves?” Jeremiah mused, tapping the eraser of his pencil contemplatively on the paper. “Without your father to oversee everything, maybe they thought they could siphon off small amounts every month without getting caught.”

Bruce twisted his mouth to the side thoughtfully. “I wish it was something like that. But I don’t think it’s so simple. When I met the board, they were all trying to keep me from looking deeper into any of this. Whatever it is, they’re all involved. It’s not just a loner trying to make a profit.”

Before Jeremiah could respond, one of the floor-to-ceiling windows creaked open and Selina landed in the curtain, bounding to her feet and disentangling herself from the heavy drapery. She stuck her head around it before stepping out, adjusting the goggles on her head and nodding at Bruce. “What’s up, turtleneck?”

Bruce gave her a half-smile, wondering if that was supposed to be an endearing term (with Selina, it was impossible to tell), and adjusted the collar of said turtleneck self-consciously. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Where’ve you been?”

She shrugged, picking up the pair of antique binoculars on the side table next to her and examining them with interest. “What, did you miss me?”

“Um, I…”

“I heard you’re investigating Wayne Enterprises.” She put the binoculars back and perched on the back of the sofa, kicking aside the throw pillows. “Are they doing so many crimes?” There was sarcasm in her voice, but if Bruce had been watching, he would have seen a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth, betraying her admiration. 

“I think they’re involved in an unauthorized project or something.” he replied seriously, then paused. “Wait, how did you know that?”

“Alfred told me on my way up. He also said he’s bringing up lunch and I was a freeloader for forcing him to make me some too.” She grinned.

“You were talking to Alfred? Why did you come in the window, then? Why not just come up the stairs?”

“Ew, stairs are boring.” She lay flat on the back of the couch, crossing her legs. Her eye caught a movement in the corner and she shot back up. “Who’s that?”

Bruce glanced up to see Selina looking at Jeremiah, who, judging by his expression, wanted to run out of the room. His eyes were darting back and forth between them, a perplexed expression on his face, and he looked prepared to make a dive behind the wing chair to hide out of sight. Bruce stood up quickly at the desk. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t introduce you two.” It was on the tip of his tongue to introduce Jeremiah by his real name, but he caught himself just in time. “Er, this is Xander Wilde. He’s staying at the house for half a year. It’s part of a thing my mother started awhile back.” _Okay, good enough._ “And this,” he gestured to the curly-haired girl who was staring at Jeremiah with narrowed eyes. “is Selina Kyle. She's my friend.” _You can trust her,_ Bruce wanted to say, and he hoped Jeremiah understood. 

“Xander Wilde, huh?” Selina tilted her head. “I haven’t seen you around before. How long have you been here?”

“A…a few weeks.” he stammered, looking at Bruce for support.

“And you haven’t been around in a while.” Selina turned to Bruce as he spoke up, then shrugged.

“Weirdly enough, I have a life that isn’t just about you, Bruce. Even if I’m your only friend.”

“Xander’s my friend too.” Bruce pointed out, and Selina rolled her eyes.

“That’s the dumbest name I’ve ever heard. Who thought it was a good idea to name their kid Xander?” Jeremiah didn’t reply, only stared at the ground, and Selina glanced back at Bruce. “Does he talk?”

“Well, you’re not exactly being friendly.” Bruce defended him.

“What, I just said he had a dumb name. I’ve told you that _your_ name’s dumb before and you didn’t care.” Seeing Bruce’s expression, she sighed. “Whatever. But I’m not calling you Xander.” She pointed to Jeremiah emphatically. “You’re ginger boy from now on.”

Jeremiah didn’t smile, but he didn’t look so nervous anymore, and Bruce was relieved. “What’d you come to see me for, Selina?”

“Oh, I was just around. I wasn’t coming to see _you,_ you know. Just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

Bruce smiled at that. Wayne Manor was the only house around for a mile or so. “Okay.”

Alfred opened the study door with a tray of sandwiches. “I see you found your way up the side of the house easily enough, Miss Kyle.” he said ironically. Selina shrugged.

“Used the gutter, old man.”

“Yes, I assume you’re quite familiar with that particular place.” Alfred muttered, setting down the tray. “Do you need anything else, Master Bruce?”

“No, Alfred, thank you.” Bruce looked up from his notebook, where he was back at work looking over the monthly bank accounts. The butler nodded and left, shutting the door behind him.

“So, ginger boy,” Selina sat down cross-legged on the couch and reached for a sandwich. “where’re you from?”

Jeremiah looked at Bruce, his eyes begging for help. Getting up to join Selina on the couch, Bruce answered for him. “He’s from the area.”

“Wow, your own personal spokesman.” She smirked at Jeremiah, who still stayed at a distance from her. “How much do you pay him?”

“What’ve you been doing lately, Selina?” Bruce broke in, determined to steer the conversation in a direction that wouldn’t convince Jeremiah to leave. “I haven’t even heard from you in a month.”

“Seriously, Bruce, you need to get a life. I don’t have time to hang out with you all day. I’m not a billionaire like you and _some_ of us need to find a place to sleep at night.”

Bruce, who knew Selina had set up very comfortable living spaces in at least five abandoned penthouses in the city and had all the time in the world to spend doing whatever she liked, would have argued the point, but he knew it probably would result in a black eye and maybe her setting fire to the carpet. Instead, he changed the subject. “Do you want to stay for dinner? We,” he glanced at Jeremiah for the go-ahead, not sure if the red-haired boy would appreciate an entire evening with Selina, “could watch a movie together or something. The three of us, I mean.”

Jeremiah gave him a faint smile, and Bruce saw the final trace of the tension he had harbored for the past week disappear from his brown eyes. Selina, unaware of any of this, took another sandwich. “Only if it’s not something stupid.”

“You can pick one.” Bruce offered generously, and she looked up from her task of ripping the lettuce out of her sandwich. 

“I thought you were working on the Wayne Enterprises thing. Aren’t you too busy for that stuff?”

Bruce looked back at the desk littered in paperwork and charts he’d been organizing. It was constantly nagging at the back of his mind, whispering that he needed to keep on working, not stopping until he uncovered whatever ugly truths his company was hiding. But, surrounded by his only two friends, it all felt faraway and…not unimportant, but not _as_ important. 

_Oh great, so Alfred_ was _right._

He shrugged, turning his back on the stacks of notes and papers behind him. One evening off of it all wasn’t going to hurt. And besides, the rift between him and Jeremiah had closed, and everything was almost back to how it had been before. He could be allowed at least some time to appreciate that, couldn’t he? It wasn’t like the work was going anywhere. 

“I’m not too busy today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> (Also if you like Gotham/Batman nonsense my tumblr is inc0rrect-dc, I make stupid memes and stuff)


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This is just kind of a chapter for bonding between the three kids and friend times before the real drama begins, but things'll start happening pretty soon that'll get the plot moving!)

**Chapter Six**

 

“You do realize,” Selina jabbed Bruce in the ribs, “that I am going to actually murder you for not telling me you had a frickin’ movie theater in your own house.”

Bruce, who had never even considered it unusual for his family to have a home theater that seated fifty people, shrugged guiltily. “I guess it never came up.”

By unconscious design, it had quickly become a weekly routine for the three of them to watch a movie at the manor every Friday evening, which was really an excuse for them to spend time with each other. Ever since Bruce’s suggestion almost a month ago, Selina had managed to show up every Friday, slipping in through one of the windows or side doors, and Bruce would set aside whatever new evidence he had dug up surrounding the Wayne Enterprises dealings. Alfred had said nothing, but Bruce had caught a smug “Looks-like-I-was-right-after-all-Master-Bruce” look on his face every now and again. 

To be fair, he _had_ been right.

Bruce had forgotten about the never-used home theater until the week before until Alfred had mentioned it, and now he was painstakingly trying to figure out the workings of the projector in the back of the room, with the other two hovering over his shoulder. Jeremiah was offering suggestions on how to turn it on, and Selina was making fun of his lack of skills in what she declared was a very simple task…neither of them very much help, but Bruce didn’t mind. 

“Why don’t you unplug that wire and plug it in again?” 

“I have a better idea, why don’t you throw it across the room and maybe it’ll knock the right stuff into place?”

“Don’t want a hole in the wall.” Bruce joked, fiddling with the cords on the back of the projector. Something inside the machine clicked and the light in the front sputtered to life. Jeremiah grinned at him, looking happier than he had ever looked before, and Selina smacked Bruce on the shoulder in what was most likely a proud gesture. 

“By the way, if you pick another dog movie, I’m going to murder you again. If you’re so into dogs, just buy one yourself.”

“I don’t want one.” Bruce protested, rifling through the stack of movies that sat on the shelf behind them. “You just don’t like them because you called yourself Cat for a while.”

Jeremiah laughed at that, and Selina shot them both a death glare. “ _I_ didn’t call myself that, other people did. And I don’t like dog movies because they’re dumb.” 

“Well, what would you rather watch?” Bruce gestured to the limitless options behind him. Selina shrugged. 

“I dunno. _Die Hard?”_

Before they could settle on a decision, Alfred appeared in the doorway. “Master Bruce, there’s a lady here to speak with you about a donation to a charity ball that’s being hosted in two weeks. The one for the children’s hospital. She said it would only take a moment.”

“Okay.” Bruce glanced from Jeremiah to Selina. “I’ll be right back.”

They watched him leave and Selina leaned against the projector, looking Jeremiah up and down. “Wish I was rich enough to go around giving money to everyone I meet.”

Jeremiah, who had been staring absently at the doorway and not really listening, glanced at her. “What?”

She shook her head impatiently. “Nothing.” There was silence between them for a moment before she spoke up again. “So, Xylophone.” Jeremiah rolled his eyes, wishing Selina would run out of words that started with the letter X soon. Ever since Bruce had introduced him as Xander, she’d taken it upon herself to give him more nicknames than he had heard in his life. “How’d you end up here?”

Jeremiah’s expression became guarded and he shrugged, wishing desperately that Bruce would hurry up and get back. He didn’t mind Selina…he hadn’t liked her at all when he’d first met her, but because she was Bruce’s friend, he’d grown to think of her as his friend, too. But she was asking him about things he couldn’t answer, and Bruce wasn’t here to stop her. 

Selina raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” He tried to keep his voice steady. Why was it so hard to do _anything_ when Bruce wasn’t around? “There’s nothing wrong.” He didn’t mean to sound so aloof, and Selina frowned. 

“Okay, whatever.” She flipped her hair out of her face and crossed her arms. “Did you hear about the Arkham breakout?”

Jeremiah almost sighed in relief…at least she wasn’t going to press the matter. “No.”

“It’s been all over the news.” she said, somewhat importantly. “Five inmates were broken out. No one knows who did it, or who the inmates are. The police are keeping their identities really undercover and hush-hush, apparently, but they’re calling themselves the Maniax. It was on the front page yesterday.”

Jeremiah tilted his head. “The Maniax?” he echoed skeptically. Selina nodded, pleased to be more knowledgable on something than Jeremiah, who sometimes irritated her with his apparently endless store of information on every topic imaginable. 

“Yep. You want to know how they found out they were calling themselves that?” Selina leaned forward, like a kid telling scary stories in a dark closet. Her eyes sparkled and she grinned, having the time of her life. “They wrote the letters on the bodies of people they kidnapped and them pushed them off the roof of the newspaper office. Spelled it out for everyone to see.”

Jeremiah stared at her, appalled. “And they…they haven’t been caught?”

“Nope. Like I said, someone broke them out. They’re probably keeping them hidden somewhere. No one knows why it’s happening, but it’s what all the news people are talking about. I thought _you_ would’ve known that.”

“I don’t watch the news.”

“Yeah, it's pretty gross.” Selina conceded. “The reports won’t show any of their faces, because they police don’t want it getting out, but they’ve done some really messed-up stuff from what _I’ve_ heard. But there’s always people like that in this city. I mean, c’mon, this is Gotham.” She laughed.

Jeremiah shivered, suddenly feeling very claustrophobic. He wasn’t sure why, but a cold feeling of dread had begun to spread across him that he couldn’t shake. He blinked, trying to focus on whatever Selina was saying. A thought had crossed his mind that wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. 

_You’re wrong. You’re being paranoid._

_They said this wouldn’t happen. It’s_ not _going to happen._

_He’s not going to find you._

“Hey, ginger boy, back to earth.” Selina snapped her fingers in front of his face and Jeremiah tried to smile, but it felt artificial and wrong and he didn’t want to smile at her, not when she had told him such horrible things with such calmness, like she was talking about the weather. She didn’t seem to care about the gravity of any of it…it felt heartless and cruel. People had _died…_ whoever these criminals were (and they _were_ strangers, all of them, because they had to be), they were cold-blooded killers, and they didn’t deserve to be talked about. _Why aren’t the police doing more to catch them?_ His breath hitched in his throat as he felt panic begin to crawl at the corners of his mind, blurring his thoughts.

Luckily, before Selina could tell any more gruesome stories, Bruce came back. “Sorry guys, there was some lady wanting to know if I would come to the charity ball and make a donation.”

“Are you going?” Selina asked nonchalantly, examining the corner of the projector with a casual expression as if she hadn’t just been telling horror stories two seconds ago. Jeremiah glanced at him and Bruce nodded.

“Alfred said I should. It’s about maintaining my parents’ image. I don’t really want to go…I don't know what I’ll do the whole time. But I guess I should, anyway.”

“I snagged a ticket from the mayor’s secretary.” Selina said with more than a hint of pride. “So I guess I’ll see you there.”

“You stole a ticket?” Jeremiah cut in, not feeling particularly friendly toward Selina after what she had been telling him. 

“What, you have a problem with that?” Selina straightened up and strode toward Jeremiah, her arms crossed. 

“It’s just that _I_ wouldn’t steal, personally.” he responded calmly, knowing it would annoy her. Bruce stepped between them before things could get more heated. Well, heated on Selina’s part, anyway. Jeremiah would probably hesitate to swat a mosquito.

“Guys, it doesn’t really matter. It’s not a big deal.” 

Selina rolled her eyes, but retreated back to her perch on the projector. “Didja hear about the Arkham breakout, Bruce?” Jeremiah sighed impatiently, wishing Selina could talk about something other than crime and murder, but she didn’t pay any attention to him. “Some inmates escaped and they’re going around killing people.”

Bruce frowned. “I haven’t heard about it.”

“The police don’t want the word getting out much. Apparently,” she dropped her voice conspiratorially, “they’re _trying_ to get attention.”

“What for?”

“I dunno. One of my friends overheard some cops on parking duty talking about it the other day and that’s what she told me. I was telling Xbox about it before you came in.” She jerked a thumb toward Jeremiah. “Also, your pal Gordon’s on the case.”

“Really?” 

“Really really. At least, that’s what I heard. Anyway, let’s find a movie.” She pushed past Jeremiah, patting him on the head, and began scrounging through the shelves. Bruce followed her.

“Do you think they need better security at Arkham? Maybe I could donate…”

“Nah, this was something that had been planned, from what _I_ heard. Done by experts. I don’t think security improvements or whatever would’ve stopped them.”

“Oh.” There was a silence between the three of them, then Bruce shrugged. “I hope they’re caught.”

“Hope so.” Selina went back to digging through the shelf, and no one brought up the subject after that.

But as they sat together in the darkened home theatre, _Die Hard_ flashing across the screen, Jeremiah couldn’t push away the single thought that continued to burrow into his mind infuriatingly. No matter how hard he tried to ignore or deny it, it was still there, like a poisonous whisper that drew his attention incessantly and maddeningly. It wouldn’t go away, not because of the thought itself, but because of the feeling that came along with it...the feeling of secret dread that spread through him until it was the only thing that filled his mind.

_He’s coming._

_He’s coming for me._

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

“Check.” Selina slammed down her rook triumphantly onto the antique Wayne chessboard, the other pieces rattling at the impact. She sat back with a smug look on her face, grinning at Jeremiah, who smirked back and pushed his queen toward her side of the board.

“And mate.” he responded. Selina burrowed her face in a throw pillow furiously and swiped her hand across the board, upending all the pieces onto the carpet. Bruce who had been hanging off the back of the couch upside down reading a book, blinked in surprise as a knight ricocheted into the side of his face. 

“I’ve been hit, men.” he said solemnly, tossing the chess piece back at Selina, who caught it deftly and almost slipped it into her pocket before rethinking and setting it back on the board. Bruce, still upside down, glanced at his friends over the top of his book. “What are you even doing?"

“Playing chess.” Selina said, as Jeremiah responded at the same time, “Winning chess.” She mock glared at him and threw a pillow at his face.

“Shut up, carrot-top. That was pure luck.”

“Oh yeah, and so were the last four wins.” he shot back with a self-satisfied grin. Selina began retrieving the scattered pieces on the floor. 

“You should be aware that I would one hundred percent hit a guy wearing glasses.” she warned. “Keep that in mind.

“Do you want me to teach you how to play, Selina?” Bruce asked, still absorbed in whatever he was reading. 

“I would one hundred percent hit a billionaire, too.” 

“I’m just saying, it might help if you knew a couple strategies.”

She shoved him off the couch and Bruce slid down to the floor, turning a page in his book, undisturbed. “I bet you can’t even play chess.”

Bruce did look up at that. “Excuse you, but I can. Alfred taught me how.”

“And have you beaten him ever?” Selina countered. Bruce looked guilty.

“Well, no. But he’s practically a chess expert. And he’s been playing a lot longer than I have.”

“Bet you couldn’t beat X-ray here.” She nudged Jeremiah in the side. “Since apparently he knows more _strategies_ than _I_ do.”

Bruce shrugged, glancing up at Jeremiah. “Want to bet?”

Selina whipped a battered antique compass, rust crawling at the edges, out of her pocket. “I’ll bet this.”

“I don’t think anyone in this room needs a compass.” Jeremiah pointed out. 

“Fine, I’ll bet twenty dollars.”

“I’m a billionaire.” Bruce chimed in.

She blew out a sigh. “ _Fine._ Then I won’t bet anything.”

“You down for a game?” Bruce looked at Jeremiah, who smiled eagerly at him. Sometimes Bruce couldn’t believe he was the same person who had arrived at the manor two months ago. He still wasn’t much of a conversationalist, not by a long shot, and he had never spoken a word about his past to Bruce, who hadn’t asked him, but he didn’t have that constant look of anxiety that Bruce had associated with him for the first few weeks of their meeting one another. He didn’t even seem to mind Selina, with her constant jabs and sarcastic comments. He had been extra quiet a few days ago after she had been talking about the Arkham escape, but when Bruce asked him if everything was all right he’d said it was nothing. The day after he seemed back to his regular self, though, and when Selina had come over, there hadn’t been any tension between the two. Bruce decided her stories must have worried the other boy and hadn’t thought any more about it.

“Sure.” Jeremiah began setting up the board. Bruce untangled himself from the pile of pillows around him and set his book aside. 

“I watched you playing Selina. You’re really good.”

He shrugged. “You’re probably better. I haven’t really played much before.”

“Where’d you learn?” Bruce asked without thinking. He immediately regretted it, and could see Jeremiah fighting to keep the withdrawn look from entering his expression. 

“I, uh, used to play sometimes. With my…when I was younger. But I haven’t for a while.” He was quiet then, and Bruce quickly switched subjects.

“Alfred said this set’s been in the family for over a hundred years. It’s all one hundred percent original.”

Selina’s interest was renewed in the conversation at that. “Really? How much are the pieces worth?”

“Not worth enough to spend the time searching for a local broker who'll pay good money for them.” Bruce smiled, knowing that was exactly what she had been planning on doing. Selina sighed.

“That’s disappointing.”

“I know.” Bruce pushed a pawn forward on the board and Jeremiah quickly moved one of his own in response. “Alfred wanted to lock the entire thing up and make it a display, but my dad always said if you have a family heirloom that can be used, you might as well use it.”

“It must be pretty bomb to have family heirlooms.” Selina commented, sounding almost thoughtful for once. Bruce, who knew as much about her family as he did about Jeremiah’s, aside from a turbulent relationship with her absent mother, looked at her sympathetically. She scoffed at him in response. “Don’t get all mushy. I was just saying.”

Bruce studied the chess board before making his next move. “Sorry.”

Selina picked up the volume Bruce had been reading, losing interest in the game when she wasn’t involved. “What sort of nerdy crap is this?”

“It’s a book on engineering.” Bruce defended his reading choices. “I was asking J…Xander about it and he said it was easy enough to read if I wanted to. I like it.”

Jeremiah, who had stiffened at Bruce’s near slip-up, relaxed again and shot his friend a grateful glance. Selina tossed the book over her shoulder. “Great, now you’re going to try to make me look dumb.”

“You’re not dumb. You just know how to do different stuff. Neither of us,” he gestured at himself, then at Jeremiah, “probably know how to pick pockets as well as you do.”

“Oh, there’s no _probably_ about it, I know I’m better.” she retorted.

They laughed, not knowing that same evening, the police station was going to be brutally invaded and civilians killed, and that the entire thing was being led by a redhead with a wide, murderous smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in next chapter for the arrival of everyone's favorite ginger maniac! >:)


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

 

Alfred switched on the small television he kept in the kitchen for watching the news while he worked, the screen flickering slowly to life before smoothing out into the image of the local news station. The reporter was talking about some attack that had occurred recently in the area, but Alfred wasn’t listening very intently. In Gotham, there was always an attack of some sort going on, and there was no reason to believe this was anything new. He did hear snatches of conversation mentioning the “Arkham breakout” and “new crime organization of lunatics”, which piqued his interest momentarily, but he had already heard about the breakout several days ago and, considering the police weren’t even showing the identities of the criminals at large, it hadn’t been in the forefront of the butler’s mind for long. Busy stirring up omelets for breakfast, Alfred half-listened to the report, and half thought about how much Bruce should donate to the charity ball the next week.

Bruce entered the kitchen, yawning as he ran a hand through his hair. “What’re you making, Alfred?”

“Your breakfast, Master Bruce.” The butler quickly arranged two sets of utensils on the kitchen table…even when the Thomas and Martha Wayne had been alive, they had never eaten in the dining room, preferring the more casual atmosphere of the kitchen. Bruce had continued to do so as well after their death, and although Alfred always kept the dining room impeccably clean and dusted in case the need to use it arose, he was fairly certain that wouldn’t happen anytime in the near future. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Bruce nodded. “Xander and I were working on designing a project he was telling me about. Kind of like a rechargeable battery. I still don’t know that much about engineering, but he was showing me how the design will allow it to use its own energy to power itself.”

Alfred, who had stuck his head in the library the night before to see them doing exactly that, Bruce looking happier than he had ever been since his parents’ death and the redhead’s expression so animated and excited that he didn’t even look like the same boy Alfred had grown used to, smiled, somewhat self-congratulatory. Finally, Bruce was able to have a real friend, and not one that dropped by unannounced every hour of the day and night looking for a snack like a scavenger animal, which Selina Kyle had a habit of doing. “I had no idea you were interested in engineering, Master Bruce.”

“I didn’t, really, until Xander explained it to me. He made it sound so easy, I wanted to learn more about it.”

“ _—we’re getting more information in regarding the attack on the GCPD last night—_ " The reporter’s voice on the television suddenly broke through their conversation, and Bruce’s eyes shot toward the screen.

“The station was attacked?” he echoed, getting to his feet.

Alfred turned to look at the television too, his eyebrows raised. Bruce sucked in a breath. “Do you think Detective Gordon’s okay?”

Alfred was silent for a moment before answering. “I’m certain he is, Master Bruce, it’s no cause for alarm. These things happen often enough when there’s a group who wants to prove a point…I’m sure everything turned out all right in the end.”

“— _following the shocking death of the newly instated police commissioner, Sarah Essen_.” the reporter continued, and Bruce’s eyes widened. 

“This was last _night?”_

“ _Several other officers were found dead at the scene, as well as some of the attackers themselves, who appear to have been turned on by their own group. This has been confirmed via newly obtained video footage of the attack_ —" 

“I have to call Detective Gordon and make sure he’s okay.” Bruce said quickly, his eyes fixed on the screen. “He might have been there when it was happening…”

“Don’t call him now, Master Bruce. If he was there, then he’s most likely busy, and if he wasn’t, he’s probably working on that very case right now. We can’t disturb him for a little while yet, and besides, there will probably be a list of casualties mentioned on this report soon enough. We can set our worries to rest then.”

“ _Please be advised, viewers, this footage is disturbing._ ” 

“I have to make sure he’s all right, though.” Bruce argued, gripping the back of the kitchen chair so tightly his knuckles bad turned white. “He’s…” His voice trailed off as his stare latched onto the television screen, the words dying on his lips.

“ _Hello, Gotham City!_ ” The voice that came across was unfamiliar, with an odd lilt that ended in a high-pitched laugh. “ _We’re the Maniax!_ ” Bruce had never heard that voice before in his life, but the face…

_What is happening?_

He knew that face.

It was the exact same one that had shone with enthusiasm last night, unfiltered happiness lighting up behind his usual shy expression. The same face that had smiled when Bruce had made a suggestion about the battery project, mentioning a formula that would sustain its own energy, and the same face that had flushed with pride when he had beaten Bruce in a game of chess just the other day in the Wayne Manor study.

_Jeremiah?_

Alfred's voice broke through the silence. “What the bloody hell…”

There was a faint sound behind them, and they both turned sharply to see Jeremiah standing in the doorway, his face drained of color and his eyes fixed on the television screen. He didn't even seem to notice Bruce or Alfred, his attention was so thoroughly focused on the footage that continued to play on the report. Bruce’s own eyes darting back and forth between the two faces, searching for a difference, searching for something to tell him that he had made a mistake, but there was nothing.

_It’s the same face._

“ _—and I’m Jerome, the, uh, shot-caller of our little gang._ ” The voice was back, ringing through the silence mockingly, like it knew exactly what was happening in the kitchen of Wayne Manor. Jeremiah flinched, holding onto the doorframe like he would collapse otherwise. Bruce noticed he was trembling uncontrollably, and his eyes had a hollow look that could only be described as pure shock. He stepped toward the other boy, who looked at him, startled, then dragged his gaze back to the screen. 

“ _We’re here to spread the message of wisdom and hope!”_ The sound of a gunshot echoed through the heavy silence of the room, and all three occupants jumped. Jeremiah tensed, his eye twitching, and Bruce looked helplessly at him, his mind completely void of any sort of words to say that could clear up or resolve any of this. Alfred was looking at Jeremiah like he was about to set the kitchen on fire, and Jeremiah was still staring at the identical face that was laughing into the camera, blood dripping down it in garish streaks. 

“I knew it.” he whispered tonelessly, his voice hitching as if he was about to break down and cry. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew he’d come.” He pressed his hands to the sides of his face like he was trying to block everyone out and backed away. Alfred spoke up.

“Hey, don’t you go anywhere.” His tone was sharp and suspicious. “Not till you explain what exactly is going on here.” He gestured to the television with the whisk he was holding, and Jeremiah glanced at him in horror.

“He’ll find me.” he murmured, his eyes glistening with tears. “He’s gonna find me, he said he would…”

“Jeremiah,” Bruce tried to keep his voice calm, and Alfred’s gaze snapped to him, filled with suspicion and questions. 

“ _Jeremiah?”_ he interjected, and Bruce looked back and forth between them.

“It’s his real name. I couldn’t tell you, Alfred, not when he trusted me to…”

“His real name, is it? And what exactly else is he hiding from us? How do you explain _that,”_ he pointed with emphasis at the boy on the television, who was still talking, going on about insanity and freedom and something else, “to anyone, eh? That’s _you.”_

Jeremiah shook his head desperately. “No…no, it’s not me, it’s _not…”_

“Oh, yeah, well who bloody is it, then?” Alfred interrupted, and Bruce tried to step in.

“Alfred, wait. Just let him talk.”

“Master Bruce, I don’t know what’s going on here, but all I know is that this boy here says he’s someone, _you_ say he’s someone else, and then his own blinkin’ face shows up on the telly.” The butler narrowed his eyes at Jeremiah threateningly. “You had better have a good explanation.”

“It’s not me.” Jeremiah repeated, his voice shaking. The report had cut off the footage and it was no longer on the screen, but he was still staring at it like the face hadn’t left. 

“Oh, well, then who is it?” Alfred retorted, crossing his arms. Jeremiah shook his head in disbelief, slowly turning his gaze to the butler. The look in his eyes was haunted, like he had seen his worst nightmare come to life in front of him. His voice was soft, almost too soft to hear, and he crossed his arms over his chest like he was cold, shivering. 

“Jerome.” He turned to Bruce, his stare desperate and searching. Calling silently for help. “My brother.”

Bruce was silent, certain he had heard that wrong. Alfred kept staring. Jeremiah stepped back, a choked, wild laugh coming from his throat.

“I’m sorry.” He turned and ran, disappearing down the hall, his footsteps echoing in the quiet. Bruce turned to Alfred helplessly, who shook his head.

“I don’t know, Master Bruce. I…”

Bruce didn’t stay to hear what Alfred was gong to say. Instead, he followed Jeremiah, who had disappeared up the stairs into his room. Bruce hesitated outside the door before he could raise his hand to knock, wondering what he should say. What had just happened? He still wasn’t sure how to process any of it, or if what he had seen really had been real.

_That face…it looked just like him…_

_But it wasn’t, it couldn’t be. It looked like him, but it wasn’t him. There was something different. I don’t know what it was, but there was_ something. 

The difference had been in their eyes. Whoever the boy on the television was, it wasn’t Jeremiah. There had been a light in his eyes Bruce had never seen in his friend’s; a demented, unhinged light that seemed to be gloating over the gory tableau he had left in his wake…laughing at the destruction, reveling in the chaos.

Jeremiah was none of those things.

Bruce quietly opened the door, stepping inside. Jeremiah was sitting on the edge of the bed, curled up with his chin resting on his knees. He looked up quickly when Bruce entered, then turned away, his shoulders stiffening. Bruce paused just inside the doorway, uncertainty sweeping over him. 

“I just…uh…wanted to make sure you’re all right.” The other boy didn’t respond, and Bruce stepped closer. “I know it wasn’t you, Jeremiah. I mean, come on, you were here last night with me. Working on the battery project.” He gave a forced laugh. “You couldn’t have been…”

“Killing people?” Jeremiah supplied flatly, finally tilting his head to meet Bruce’s gaze. His eyes were tortured and red-rimmed, and Bruce realized he was still shaking. 

“Hey, listen, it’s going to be okay.” He paused. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I promise you, it’ll be okay. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

He drew in a quivering breath. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.” Bruce didn’t, but he hated seeing his friend so terrified. He tried to sound convincing. “But Jeremiah…I don’t…” _I don’t know what’s going on._

“I’m sorry, Bruce.” he said quietly, his voice still unsteady. He was staring at the ground, looking so distant that Bruce wasn’t sure he actually realized he was there. “I thought…I thought I could get away from him for good.” He drew his shoulders up and closed his eyes tightly. “I thought this was all over.”

“So he’s really your brother.” Bruce kept his voice equally quiet, but he wasn’t going to wait to get answers. Whatever had happened, there was a lot of history behind it, that much was clear. He had to know the truth. “A twin?”

Jeremiah nodded, the movement almost nonexistent. “Identical.”

“And he was in Arkham.”

“I didn’t know about that.” Jeremiah finally looked up at him steadily, and Bruce could see he was telling the truth. “I wouldn’t have stayed in Gotham if I had known.” He was still deathly pale, but his voice was calmer now, and he wasn’t trembling so violently. 

“So what you said about your mother…not having any brothers or sisters…none of that was real?” Bruce asked carefully. 

Jeremiah sighed, suddenly looking very drained. “It was partly true. I didn’t…I didn’t want to lie to you…but I couldn’t tell you the truth. I couldn’t tell anyone.” His voice broke on the last word. “I couldn’t risk going back.”

“Look, I know it’s got to be a shock, seeing him like that, especially if…if he was one of the Arkham inmates. But Jeremiah…I need to know about this, as much as you can tell me. I need to know so I can protect you.”

“I knew he’d find me.” he murmured, as if he hadn’t even heard Bruce. “He said he always would.”

“Jeremiah.” Bruce said firmly, and the redhead looked at him with a distant expression behind the fear in his eyes. “Tell me everything you can.”

He huddled against the bedpost, suddenly looking very small and even more afraid. “Bruce, there’s nothing you can…”

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” Bruce said firmly. “You can take my word for it. But I need to know what’s going on. Who you really are, and what’s happened with your…your brother.” 

“He’s gonna kill me, Bruce.” He shuddered. “He’s tried before, and he’s gonna do it this time.”

“I know you’re scared, but you’ve got to trust me. It’s the only way you can be safe.” Bruce insisted, knowing Alfred would probably appear any moment and then Jeremiah would really shut down for good and he might never know what was going on. His tone became more urgent and he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Please.”

Jeremiah flinched at the contact, then met Bruce’s gaze hesitantly. “Will you…will you be mad that I lied to you?” 

He sounded like a little kid who had gotten in trouble, and Bruce sat down beside him. “No. I just want to help you.” 

“I just thought…I thought it was all over now. I thought I wouldn’t have to…”

“Just start from the beginning.” Bruce said quickly, trying to keep the conversation on track. “Who are you, really? Not just your name, but who are _you?”_

He stared down at his hands, a derisive look crossing his face as if he was ashamed. “Jeremiah Valeska, I have a twin named Jerome and our mother was a snake dancer in Haly’s Circus. I…I left the circus four years ago, a month after our birthday. We were in Gotham for a week, and my uncle brought me to the orphanage and told me it was the only way my brother wasn’t going to kill me. He tried to, twice, that month. That’s why my mother decided to send me away.”

Bruce listened intently. “Have you seen her since?”

“She’s dead.” he said emotionlessly. “He killed her. I got a letter from our uncle last year saying he murdered her and was sent to an asylum. I never thought…” He choked on the words. “I never thought it would be _here.”_

“I’m sorry.” Bruce murmured, not knowing what else to say. Jeremiah looked at him.

“She just wanted to get rid of me. Jerome always thought she liked me better, but that wasn’t true. She hated us both.” There was a bitterness in his tone that Bruce was surprised to hear. He would have thought Jeremiah would’ve had more sympathy for his own mother’s death, but then, he didn’t know what it had been like for the other boy…what he had gone through. 

“And so you changed your name and tried to start a new life.”

“I just wanted to get away from him.” Jeremiah said softly, looking away.

“You said…you said he tried to kill you.” Bruce didn’t want to upset his friend even more, but he had to know what was going on. Jeremiah leaned his head against the bed frame and stared at the floor.

“Jerome’s a psychopath. The…the first time, he killed a cat he’d found and skinned it. He brought it to me to show me, and when I said I was going to tell our mother what he’d done, he pulled out the knife he’d used and told me he would cut my throat if I tried. That was when we were eight.” The words came out in a rush and he curled up tighter in on himself. “He would always do things like that. And then a month before I left, on our birthday, he picked up the cake knife when no one was looking and really did…did try to kill me.” He touched a faint white scar on his throat and Bruce winced. “When it didn’t work, he set the bed on fire the next week and almost burned down the trailer.” Drawing a shivering breath, he looked up. “That was right before I left.”

Bruce was silent, tracing the pattern on the quilt with one finger and trying to process what he had heard. “Maybe he doesn’t know you’re in Gotham.” he suggested. “I mean, if he was put in Arkham by coincidence, then he has no way of knowing that you happen to be in the same city. He doesn’t have to ever learn that, either, as long as the two of you don’t cross paths before he’s caught.”

“He’ll know, Bruce. Even if he doesn’t know now, he will.” Jeremiah looked earnestly at him, and Bruce knew he believed every word he was saying. “I know it sounds crazy to you, but the other day, I _knew_ he was in Gotham. I could just tell. And if _I_ knew it, then he must, too.”

Bruce looked skeptical. “I’ve heard that twins can sometimes sense each other’s thought, but…”

“No, it’s not like that.” Jeremiah said defensively. “We’re _not_ connected. He’s a _murderer,_ Bruce. You saw what happened on TV. He killed those people. We’re nothing alike, Jerome and I.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Bruce tried to explain. “But even if he does know you’re in Gotham, I’m not going to let him find you. The manor’s security system is the best in the city.”

“Selina gets in easily enough.” he said doubtfully.

“I _let_ her in. I never lock the windows in the study so she’ll be able to open them. If I needed to, I could turn on a whole other layer of security. Trust me.”

Jeremiah didn’t look so terrified anymore, but he seemed far from reassured. “Okay.”

Bruce paused. “Is that why you were trying to stay so out of sight from everyone?” _So he_ was _hiding. And from his own brother._ Jeremiah shrugged.

“I thought it would make it harder for him to find me.”

“He’s not going to find you. And if for some reason he ever _did,_ he wouldn’t hurt you.” Bruce looked intently at Jeremiah, who tried to hold his steady gaze. “I promise you that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :)


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

 

Bruce had explained everything to a very skeptical Alfred, who listened with narrowed eyes as he prepared a salad and chopped carrots.

“Why exactly have you decided to trust…” The butler paused.

“Jeremiah.” Bruce supplied.

“Yes. After all, Master Bruce, he lied to us. Everything we thought we knew about him was completely fictional.”

“Not entirely. It was only the part about his brother…”

“There was the lie about his mother, that his brother murdered her in cold blood. He neglected to tell us _that_ little tidbit, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t want Jerome to find him.” Bruce argued. “He couldn’t tell anyone. It wasn’t just us. He wasn’t hiding it because he _wanted_ to lie, he was just scared.”

“Yes, but let’s not forget the most important part of all this, Master Bruce. His brother, if we are to believe him, is a bloody psychopath obsessed with finding him. Do you realize what that means for your safety? If this…Jerome…is all they say he is, then he’ll stop at nothing to find him. And that puts _you_ right in the middle of the whole mess.”

Bruce squared his shoulders. “I’m not going to abandon Jeremiah because of that. He’s my friend.”

“A friend who has kept quite a bit of important information from you.”

“Alfred, I told you, he had no other choice. Do you think he _wanted_ to change his identity and live under the radar to get away from the person trying to kill him?”

“I don’t know, Master Bruce.” Alfred sighed. “I don’t know what I think. All I know is that boy on the television is completely off his rocker, and if his brother is anything like him, I fear for your safety.”

“He’s not like him.”

“I’m sure he’d want you to think that.”

“He’s _not.”_ Bruce insisted. “I can tell, Alfred. I know he’s not.”

“All I will say,” the butler said with an air of finality, turning away, “is that he has tricked us all before. I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of it happening again. Master Bruce.”

Bruce realized that Alfred’s faith in Jeremiah wasn’t going to be restored overnight, and he could only hope that maybe someday he would trust the redhead again. Instead of arguing the point even further, he called Jim Gordon, waiting with growing concern as the dial tone continued to ring, and finally smiling in relief when the other line was picked up and he heard the detective’s familiar voice on the end of the line. Not wanting to say anything about Jeremiah until he had a better grasp about what was going on, Bruce merely said he’d wanted to make sure Jim was all right after the attack, and asked if they were close to catching the perpetrators yet. Jim, sounding tired and worried, had said no, they had chased a lead earlier in the day but it had been a dead end.

“Unfortunately, when we went to see Paul Cicero, we—" he’d began, then cut off abruptly as if he’d said more than he meant to. Bruce, storing the name in his memory to ask Jeremiah about, had said it was fine, and wished the detective luck on the case before hanging up. 

“He’s all right, Alfred.” he said, his shoulders slumping in relief.

“Well, that’s good news, certainly, Master Bruce.” the butler said, polishing the silverware. “And I suppose if he’s on the case, the city can quickly be rid of this madness.”

“I hope so, I’d—" Bruce began, then stopped as a thump from upstairs interrupted the conversation. Racing out of the kitchen and up the steps, he pushed open the door to Jeremiah’s room and stepped inside.

“Is everything…”

“Bruce.” He heard Selina’s voice, and turned to see her standing by the window, holding a knife to Jeremiah’s throat. She’d backed him up into a corner, the blade pressed against his neck, and he was staring at Bruce with wide eyes. 

“Selina, wait.”

“Stay back, Bruce, or I’ll cut his throat open right now.” She pressed harder down on the knife and Jeremiah drew in a sharp breath, tensing. Bruce froze.

“Selina. Listen to me.”

“It was on the news.” she said shortly, glancing at him over her shoulder. “The attack at the police station. This asshat was _there,_ totally nuts. I don’t know how you didn’t see it, it was all over the news. Dunno how he did it, but I’m not fooled by the innocent act.”

“I saw the news.” Bruce said, keeping his voice calm. He glanced at Jeremiah apologetically, then added quickly, “It wasn’t him.”

Selina’s eyes narrowed. “ _What?”_

“It wasn’t him. So you can put the knife away.” Bruce stepped forward, and Selina renewed her grip on her weapon.

“I don’t know what you’re tripping on, Bruce, but I’m not letting him go. He’s gonna kill everyone here if I do.”

“I won’t—"

“Shut up.” she snapped. “Listen, I know what I saw. He killed the commissioner and filmed everything. There’s _evidence.”_

“Just listen to me for a second.” Bruce interrupted. “There’s an explanation for this, but you need to put the knife away, now.”

“If there’s such a good explanation, then why didn’t you just spit it out right away?” she countered. Bruce turned to Jeremiah, who nodded as best he could with a knife edge digging into his throat. 

“It’s his brother.”

She frowned. “What?”

“His brother. He has a twin named Jerome. That’s who you saw on the TV.” Bruce kept his eyes on Jeremiah, who was pressed up against the wall anxiously, his hands balled into fists at his sides as he tried to crane his neck away from the knife. “Listen, it’s a long story, but you can trust him. I promise.”

“That’s what he would’ve told _you.”_ she replied, still suspicious. 

“Selina, I…” Jeremiah started, and she turned on him.

“I said shut up. I’m not letting you go until I know what’s going on and I know you’re not here to kill Bruce.”

He stared at her with betrayal written across his face, then looked pleadingly at Bruce, who reached out a hand. “It’s okay, Jeremiah, just let me…”

“Who?” Selina broke in, and Bruce paused.

“Jeremiah. It’s his real name. Look, can we please—"

“His _real_ name? Why was he going by the stupid Xander Wilde one then?”

“Because he’s trying to stay hidden from his brother!” Bruce raised his voice, exasperated. “He wasn’t involved in the attack at the station, just let him go, Selina.”

She hesitated, then slowly stepped back, pocketing the knife. Jeremiah shied away from her, backing further into the corner and wrapping his arms around himself. Selina put her hands on her hips.

“So you’re saying there’s another one of you out there, completely identical…”

“He isn’t _me.”_ Jeremiah said insistently, though he was still watching her with guarded caution. “He’s my brother.”

“And are you guys friends?”

“No.” His eyes grew dark. “He tried to kill me.”

Her expression began to soften the slightest amount, and she didn’t seem ready to pounce on him with her knife anymore. But she was still looking at him suspiciously, her mouth pulled into a tight line. “You didn’t know anything about the attack.”

“Not until I saw it on the TV this morning.”

“Huh.” She looked at Bruce for confirmation, who nodded.

“He was here last night, anyway. We were working on something together. It wasn’t him.”

“Oh.” Her expression somewhat disgruntled at having been wrong and going through all the trouble to save Bruce when hew wasn’t in danger to begin with, she sat down on the bed cross-legged and stared at Jeremiah. “You really look the same, though.”

“I know.” he said softly, twisting his hands together.

“Sorry for attacking you.” she apologized reluctantly. He gave a faint smile.

“At least you didn’t just run in and stab me or anything.”

Selina scoffed. “I don’t just go around stabbing people. There would have to be a pretty big reason for me to go through the trouble of stabbing someone. But you’re welcome.”

Bruce sighed in relief. That had been a disaster closely averted, but at least everything was all right now. At least, that was what he hoped. Selina still didn’t smile, and Jeremiah looked shaken, but no one was attacking anyone, and that was a considerable plus at the moment. “I called Detective Gordon. A friend of mine.” he explained to Jeremiah, who stared at him perplexed, perplexed.

“Is Jimothy okay?” Selina spoke up, pulling a loose string on the quilt. Bruce nodded.

“He’s fine. He said they were hunting down leads. Oh,” He looked at Jeremiah again. “he mentioned someone named Paul Cicero. Do you know him?”

The redhead’s eyes grew wide. “He lives with the circus. Or he used to.”

Selina looked up. “What circus?”

“I…my mother used to work for Haly’s Circus.” he explained quietly. 

“You lived in a _circus?”_ she echoed. “What the hell else do I not know about you?”

He shook his head. “That’s about it."

“So you know how to, like, juggle fire and stuff?”

“No…”

“Was there a kissing booth?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Wow, what a lame circus.” She caught Bruce’s look he threw at her and shrugged. “Sorry, go on.”

“He’s a fortune teller there. But if your friend met him, then he must not be working anymore.”

“I didn’t hear anything else about it, but I thought it might have been for a lead about…” Bruce hesitated, not sure if he should speak on the topic. Jeremiah gave a short, humorless laugh.

“You can say his name, it’s not like you’ll conjure him up like a ghost or anything.”

“A lead about Jerome.” Bruce finished slowly. “But I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

Selina got to her feet. “Well, I’ve gotta go. I came here soon as I watched the news, but if you’re not going to kill Bruce or anything, I have places to be. You’d better watch yourself, though.” She pointed at Jeremiah, and he nodded mutely. “The second something going wrong, if it goes wrong, just know that you’re done for and I will obliterate you without question. See ya later, kids.” She disappeared out the window, the curtains fluttering behind her as she left. 

Jeremiah looked up at Bruce, pushing his glasses back into place. He looked tired, the shock of everything taking a toll on him. “She cares a lot about you.”

Bruce sighed, closing the curtains. “Apparently. Although it seems like everything she does to show she _cares_ ends up violent.”

“Before you came in, she told me that if I ever did anything to you, she would personally hunt me down and kill me.” He tried to laugh, but it came out half-hearted. “So you’re right, but she does care.” 

“I’m sorry about that. I should have known she would’ve been keeping an eye on that sort of thing. She pays attention to everything around the city.”

“It’s okay.” He didn’t seem okay, he seemed stressed and scared and on the verge of a breakdown, but Bruce knew it was a signal that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. 

“Do you want to go back to working on the battery project?” he asked with as much enthusiasm he could muster. Jeremiah had seemed so genuinely happy as they worked last night, he could only hope that maybe it would help him forget about everything that had happened. 

Even if they couldn’t go back to how things were before. Because that wasn’t going to happen.

Although Bruce couldn’t pinpoint _how_ he knew, he could tell that things were never going to be the same.

 

\+ + + + + + 

 

It was two in the morning, and Bruce had been sleeping soundly, but he woke up feeling that something was wrong. Sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands, he listened intently to hear if anything was the matter. Everything was silent, except for the familiar creaking that came along with living in an old house, but he couldn’t shake whatever he had felt. Sliding out of bed and shuffling across the floor, he pushed the door open and peered out into the dark hallway. Nothing moved in sight, and for a moment, he contemplated going back to sleep. But then he decided against it and stepped out into the hall as silently as he could, avoiding the familiar patches on the ground that squeaked when he stepped on them. If Alfred heard him roaming around, he would probably suspect an intruder and Bruce might accidentally be met with the wrong end of the butler’s trained fighting fist. Not relishing that prospect, he kept his steps light and silent.

A sliver of faint light came from under the door of Jeremiah’s room, and, without bothering to knock, Bruce stuck his head inside. “Are you awake?”

The other boy was sitting in the window seat, curled up with his arms wrapped around his knees, staring out the window. He jumped when he heard Bruce’s whisper, and turned to look at him. Bruce noticed the dark shadows under his eyes and the exhausted look on his face. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

Jeremiah shrugged slightly, turning back to the window. “I can’t.”

Bruce nodded, knowing how that felt. After his parents had died, he’d spent many a sleepless night alone in the dark, wishing he could at least have an hour of forgetfulness of everything that had happened, but it never came. He remembered on those nights how he would go down to the study and sit in his father’s favorite wing chair, and read a book until the sun began creeping through the curtains. Then he would go back upstairs and crawl into bed, so Alfred wouldn’t realize he hadn’t slept all night. “What’re you drawing?”

Jeremiah looked down at the sketchbook in his hands in surprise, as if he had forgotten he was holding it. “Oh.” He showed it to Bruce, a labyrinth that was so intricate that Bruce knew it would take him hours to figure out how to get to the center if he tried. “It’s nothing. Just…” His voice trailed off and he closed the book with a sense of finality. 

“You should at least try to sleep.” Bruce offered unhelpfully, knowing how useless the advice was. Jeremiah leaned his head against the windowpane.

“He’s out there, Bruce. Out there in Gotham. He’s so _close,_ it almost feels like he’s going to just appear in this room.” He drew a shuddering breath. “I can’t close my eyes without seeing him.”

“He’s not here.” Bruce said, although he knew it would make no difference. “And he’s not going to find you. Whatever he’s doing right now, this whole thing with the police station, he’s focused on that. You’re probably the furthest thing from his mind.” It wasn’t the best of comfort, but it was the most positive thing he could say regarding the situation. “Really. I know that doesn’t make anything less scary, but at least you know he’s not _here.”_

Jeremiah nodded slowly, looking unconvinced. “Yeah.”

Bruce twisted his mouth to the side thoughtfully. “You know you’ll be safe at the manor, right?”

He gave a choked laugh. “I thought I’d be safe _here_. In Gotham.”

“You _are_ safe. Detective Gordon’s working on the case now. They’ll catch him soon enough.”

“If he broke out of Arkham, do you really think he can be held in prison?” Jeremiah asked bitterly. Bruce hesitated.

“Well, someone broke him out. He wasn’t the one who did it. As far as I know.”

“They shouldn’t have done that.” he murmured. “They don’t know Jerome.” 

Bruce stepped closer. “This will all be over soon. I promise it will.” Jeremiah was silent for a moment.

“I wish I could believe that.”

“You shouldn’t stay up all night, though.” Bruce insisted, and Jeremiah looked at him like he was crazy.

“ _You’re_ awake.” he pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but…”

“I’m fine, Bruce.”   
_No, you’re not._ “Jeremiah. You have to believe me that Jerome won’t find you here. Really. You have to, otherwise this is going to consume you.”

“I’m _trying_ to believe it, Bruce.” he retorted, his voice suddenly sharp. Then his shoulders slumped and he glanced at Bruce apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just want you to take care of yourself.”

“I don’t mind staying here.” He gestured to the window seat tiredly. “I’m not going to sleep anyway.”

“Would you feel better if you slept with me?” Bruce offered. Jeremiah’s face turned bright red and he looked shocked. Bruce rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. So you’re not alone.”

The other boy hesitated. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m trying to help you. And I’m not staying up all night with you. So you can either stay there staring out the window like a sad basic white girl in a teen movie,” Bruce climbed up into the bed and pulled the covers up, “or you can actually try to go to sleep like a normal person.”

“You don’t even watch teen movies.” Jeremiah protested lamely.

“You don’t know my life.” Bruce answered from under the covers. He waited until he heard the soft creak of the bed and felt the mattress move slightly before opening his eyes again. “And don’t worry about Jerome. Wayne Manor is probably the most secure building in the city. Your brother’s not going to find you.”

“Okay.” Jeremiah murmured, sounding, at the very least, not so terrified. Bruce rolled onto his side. 

“Hog the blanket and I’ll have Selina drop you off the roof.” he warned. Jeremiah laughed softly.

“I’ve already had Selina try to gut me with a knife today. I don’t need any more life threatening experiences around her.”

“Oh, believe me, just being around Selina is a life threatening experience.” Bruce replied, his eyes drooping shut. The room fell silent as the wind outside howled around the house, and the stars peered out behind the grey clouds that shrouded the city below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some fluffy time with the bois before the real angst kicks in XD


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

 

“Sorry Alfred’s making you do this.” Bruce made eye contact with Jeremiah in the mirror as they both stood in front of it, tying their respective ties. “I know you don’t want to come.”

“It’s okay.” Jeremiah said, avoiding Bruce’s gaze. 

“I told him he could trust you, it’s just…well, he’s Alfred. Maybe it’s a butler thing to be suspicious, I don’t know.”

“He has every reason to be suspicious. And it's his job to protect you and the manor. I don’t blame him for thinking I might burn it down or something.” He managed a faint laugh, but there was no amusement in it, and the expression in his eyes turned sad. “I bet he’s wishing now that he hadn’t picked me to come stay here.”

“He’ll change his mind about you soon enough.” Bruce tried to sound encouraging. “I’m sure he knows deep down that you’re not like your brother. He just likes to be cautious."

“I spy two dorks in ties.” A voice from behind them piped up, and Bruce wheeled around to see Selina perched on the windowsill, a smirk on her face. “You look like you’re going to court to file for divorce.”

“I thought you were going to the charity ball too, Selina.” Bruce commented, turning back to the mirror. 

“Yeah, I am.”

“So why are you here?”

“Because it doesn’t take me five hours to get ready." she retorted, running a hand through her hair. “There’s still an hour before the doors open. I’ve got stuff ready back at my place and I needed some time to kill.” 

“What’re you wearing?” Bruce asked conversationally.

“Uh,” she glanced down, “ripped jeans and a shirt Ivy gave me.”

“I mean to the charity ball.”

“Oh. I dunno. I don't exactly check the tags when I’m sneaking a dress out of a store.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I could have bought you one.”

“Ew, no. Last time you did that I had like fifty dresses to lug around. I can shop for myself.”

“You could at least let me give you some money.”

“Shut up, Bruce.” She turned her attention to Jeremiah. “So you’re going with him?” He nodded. “I thought you, like, didn’t leave the house.”

Jeremiah shrugged. “Alfred doesn’t really trust me after the…” he swallowed nervously, his fingers fumbling on the tie, “the attack on the police station. That’s the only reason I’m going.”

“Have you ever even been to a party before?” Selina raised an eyebrow. 

“No.”

“They’re pretty stupid. But you can make a lot of bank if you put your mind to it.” She smiled slyly. Bruce shook his head.

“You’re a bad influence, Selina, you know that?”

“Please, I’m the _worst_ influence.” she laughed. 

“I got the mayor’s secretary a new ticket, by the way. So even though you stole her's she’ll be able to come. You might want to avoid her if you don’t want to get kicked out.”

“Honestly, Bruce are you trying to make my life hard?”

“You do that well enough yourself.”

“Wow, okay." Selina stepped inside and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “Exactly how much hair gel are you using, Miah?” she asked, referring to Jeremiah by the nickname she had given him promptly after learning his real one (“Jeremiah is way too long for me to say every time I want to talk to you,” she’d told him). “You look like you dumped a whole bottle on your head.”

Jeremiah touched his hair self-consciously. “I didn’t think I put in too much…”

“It looks fine.” Bruce reassured him. “She’s just picking on you.”

“What’s even gonna happen at this party?” Selina asked, pulling apart a fake cattail plant that sat in a tall vase in the corner and sprinkling the shredded fibers on the ground. “Just snacks and people talking about money?”

“Alfred said they’re going to have a magician.” Bruce pointed to a trash can in the corner. “You can throw that away now that you’re finished destroying it.”

“Ugh, magicians are boring.”

“It’s better than people talking about money.” Bruce pointed out.

“I guess. Maybe he’ll eat fire. That’d be cool.” She glanced over her shoulder after disposing of the mauled cattail. “You ever see any good magicians in your circus, Miah?”

Jeremiah shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed in front of him. Bruce could see by the strained look on his face it wasn’t something he really wanted to talk about, but he answered, “There were some. They were okay, I guess. I never really paid much attention.”

“If _I_ lived in a circus,” Selina commented, resuming her spot on the windowsill, “I would at least have fun while I was there.”

“You would get tired of it pretty quickly.”

“I wouldn’t. I’d make everyone teach my their tricks.”

“The tricks,” Jeremiah looked back at her, “are mostly that everyone is untalented and they scam people out of their money by making them think they’re having a good time.”

“Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine today.” she scoffed. “Anyway, I’m gonna go. Maybe sneak a little something from the kitchen on my way out. I heard Alfred was making cake.”

“He’s going to have some strong words with you if you disturb his cake.” Bruce warned her. “He's touchy about his baked goods."

“I’ll risk it.” She crawled out the window, disappearing below the sill. “See you later. That magician better eat fire.”

 

\+ + + + + + + 

 

Doctor Leslie Thompkins smiled as she shook Bruce’s hand. “It’s very generous of you, donating to the children’s hospital.”

He smiled back, stepping aside as an older couple in evening dress brushed past him. “My mother always made a donation at this charity ball, I wanted to continue to do the same thing.” Well, Alfred had wanted him to, anyway. Bruce had wanted to simply donate anonymously and get it over with, but the butler had insisted that it was important to keep up his parents’ public image by going to the party. But Dr. Thompkins didn’t need to know that.

“And you…” She turned to Alfred, holding out her hand. 

“Alfred Pennyworth, miss.” he supplied. Jeremiah, who was standing behind Bruce and staring intently at the floor, whispered,

“Do you know her?” 

“I’ve seen her before, with Detective Gordon.” Bruce answered. “She works at the GCPD.”

Lee had turned back toward him as he finished speaking. “Brought a friend with you, Bruce?” she asked, and Bruce heard Jeremiah’s breath quicken. He nodded.

“Yes.” He nudged Jeremiah to make eye contact with Lee, and he slowly lifted his head, looking hesitantly at her with wide eyes. A confused, wary look crossed her face for a moment, and her glance flickered between Alfred and Bruce, who stared at her confidently. “My friend, Xander Wilde.”

He held out a hand tentatively, and Lee took it without hesitation, although she still looked like she wasn’t sure what or who she was seeing. “A pleasure to meet you.” she said distantly, and Jeremiah nodded wordlessly. Lee tilted her head slightly. “Sorry, you…” She trailed off, shutting her mouth tightly. “Never mind.” Bruce met her gaze, trying to convey his confidence in his friend, but Lee didn’t look at him for long. She glanced at Jeremiah again, then turned back to Alfred, forcing a smile on her face. Jeremiah huddled behind Bruce, who murmured, 

“It’s okay. She knows you’re not him.”

“How do _you_ know?”

“Because she would be calling Detective Gordon right away if she really thought that. She was just confused.” Jeremiah drew a long breath, and although he didn’t say anything, Bruce could see by the frightened, uptight look on his face, that he was hating every moment of this situation. “Miah, it’s okay.”

Jeremiah looked around at the crowds pressed in tightly against them on all sides and crossed his arms uncomfortably. “There’s so many people here.”

“I know, that’s how it usually is at these things. I don’t like it either.” Bruce tried to give him a reassuring smile. “But that’s all it is, just people. It’ll be over soon enough.”

Jeremiah nodded, returning the smile faintly, just as Selina appeared, sliding a wad of dollar bills into the pocket of her dress. 

“Oh hey what’s up, short stacks. I’m glad I came, this place is a gold mine.” She opened her purse to reveal a tangled pile of necklaces, bracelets, tie clips, and cufflinks. Bruce sighed long-sufferingly.

“All these people came here to donate money, Selina. Don’t you think it’s kind of rude to steal from them?”

“What’s kind of rude,” she retorted, “is that every time I try to sleep on the street some cop tries to lock me up and send me upstate to juvie, so I have to pay rent for my own place. _That’s_ what’s rude.”

Bruce didn’t want to argue. “You look nice tonight.”

She brushed her hand against the skirt of her black dress. “Yeah, I do. And it has pockets.”

“Do you,” Bruce looked out at the dance floor hesitantly, which was crowded with couples slow-dancing. “Do you want to, uh,”

“If you’re asking me to dance,” she cut in, “nope. I have things to do. Actually, I’m kind of wasting time standing here talking to you. See ya around. Bye, Miah.” She nodded at them, then slipped off into the crowd. Bruce watched her go.

“I _have_ offered her money before if she needed it, you know.”

Before Jeremiah could respond, the crowd quieted as Lee stepped up on the stage to welcome and thank them for their donations. Bruce and Jeremiah found their way back to Alfred, who was standing in the back of the room. There was scattered clapping as Lee finished speaking, and then a drumroll as the spotlight shone on the center of the stage, and a woman in a pink showgirl outfit stepped out into the light. Bruce glanced at Jeremiah.

“I never asked, do _you_ like magicians?” 

Jeremiah shrugged. “They’re all right.”

They turned back to the stage, just in time to see a bearded man appear out of a tall box that sat on the far end of the stage. There was more clapping, and Bruce gave a half-smile. He glanced over at Jeremiah, who was studying the carpet, and nudged him in the side. “I don’t think there’s much after this. Maybe we can get Alfred to let us leave early when this guy’s finished.”

Jeremiah nodded, still absorbed in the carpet, and Bruce looked back up as the magician pulled a flower out of a handkerchief. Dr. Thompkins, after leaving the stage, had come to stand by them in the back, and although her eyes traveled questioningly to Jeremiah once or twice, she didn’t seem too scrutinizing. 

“For my next trick,” the magician began in an oddly husky voice as his assistant rolled out a box on wheels, “I will require a volunteer.”

Bruce wasn’t really listening, thinking more about how he and Jeremiah could work on their project with the batteries if they could go home early, but suddenly he looked up and everyone’s eyes were on him. Jeremiah was still staring at the floor and didn’t notice, but Alfred propelled Bruce forward toward the stage. “Looks like you’re the lucky volunteer, Bruce.”

He reluctantly wove his way through the crowd, not exactly thrilled about being the center of attention, but not wanting to spoil the atmosphere by refusing. As he stepped up on the stage, the magician motioned for him to step into the box, then leaned down close to Bruce, his breath tickling the side of his face.

“And what is the name of our brave volunteer?” he shouted, and Bruce flinched at volume. 

“Bruce.” he offered, the the magician clapped his hands.

“Bruce! Well, you’ll be glad to know,” he picked up two sheets of metal, sharpened on the ends, and clashed them together dramatically like cymbals, “this won’t hurt a bit.” He leaned forward, grinning out over the audience from behind the black harlequin mask he was wearing. “Is there a doctor in the house?”

Bruce turned his head to look at the audience, noticing Jeremiah, Alfred, and Lee standing in the back and watching intently. He heard the metal slide through the wood and saw the crowd collectively flinch, all but Jeremiah, who watched with a dismissive sort of stare. The wooden box shifted, and there was another scattered round of clapping as Bruce climbed out, brushing his suit off.

“Some say Bruce has a split personality.” he heard the magician chortling as he descended the steps and made his way to the back of the room. Standing next to Jeremiah, he grinned.

“Did it look cool?”

Jeremiah shrugged. “They used to do that trick at the circus every night in the show. It’s pretty stupid.”

Bruce looked deflated. “Oh.”

His friend shot him a quick, apologetic glance. “But it did look cool.” he added hurriedly, if not authentically. 

They turned their attention back to the stage, where the deputy mayor had been called up as the next “volunteer”and was standing against what looked like a large target. The assistant wheeled out a tray covered in a cloth, then pulled it off with a flourish, revealing a row of knives. Beside Bruce, Jeremiah shifted uneasily. The assistant bowed theatrically, and her mask fell off, clattering onto the stage. She swept it up with a wink and stepped aside as the magician examined one of the knives contemplatively before he looked up to address the audience. Even from a distance, Bruce could see his eyes glittering.

“By the way,” he said conversationally, turning toward the deputy mayor and hoisting a long knife in his hand almost playfully, “nobody is getting out of here alive.”

There were a few laughs at that, but Bruce didn’t crack a smile. Something in the magician’s tone was strange, as if he wasn’t really making a joke.

Then the knife sped through the air, embedding itself in the deputy mayor’s chest with a sickening thud. 

The room sat in stunned silence for a moment, then as the victim’s body slumped to the floor, it erupted into chaos, screams filling the air as the guests clambered to their feet, knocking over chairs and tables in the process. Bruce half-turned to see Jeremiah staring at the dead body in shock, his face sheet white and his brown eyes huge behind his glasses.

Before anyone could make a move to leave the banquet hall, the sound of gunfire rose above the noise, and everyone quickly fell silent and still. The magician laughed, the sound high and sharp and strangely familiar, and Bruce saw Jeremiah freeze, his wide-eyed gaze latching onto the masked man onstage with a mixture of horror and disbelief. 

“What…” Bruce began, then broke off, realization sweeping over him.

He knew where he’d heard that laugh before.

Suddenly, he was back in the manor’s kitchen, staring at the television screen as the boy identical to Jeremiah grinned into an unsteady camera, laughter punctuating his words. Bruce shook his head slowly, the gunfire and chaos around him melting away as he realize who was standing on the stage.

The magician pulled off the mask and false beard, and tossed the top hat he’d been wearing into the audience, spreading his arms wide with a flourish. Bruce’s eyes widened. It was like looking at a mirror reflection of Jeremiah. But there was a deadly light in this boy’s eyes, a malicious twist in his smile. He laughed again, like he was being told the most hilarious joke, and bounded across the stage to the microphone, motioning a cameraman to come closer.

Bruce pulled his gaze away from the boy…Jerome…to his twin brother, who was still rooted to the spot in mute horror. “We’re got to get out of here, Miah.” he whispered, and Jeremiah looked at him with such finality in his eyes that Bruce could suddenly feel the same despair rush through him.

_We can’t get out._

His hand latched onto the corner of Jeremiah’s sleeve, trying to reassure his friend and ignore the slowly building terror that was spreading over him without warning. “The police are coming…they’ll stop this…”

_Were the police coming?_

_Do they even know what’s happening here?_

Jeremiah shuddered, his hand winding around Bruce’s wrist in a vise-like grip, as if he was the only thing holding him back from bolting to the guarded door in a futile attempt to escape. Jerome was on the phone now, announcing to whoever was on the other end how he was going to kill everyone, and acting like a kid at a birthday party. The cameraman followed him faithfully as he pranced across the stage, his wild gaze sweeping across the audience like he was trying to pinpoint his next victim.

After a burst of crazed laughter, he straightened up and flipped the phone closed. Jeremiah clung to Bruce’s hand tightly, who felt his friend trembling uncontrollably. 

“It’s gonna be okay.” he murmured, trying to convince himself just as much as Jeremiah. “He can’t kill _everyone_ in this room.”

“He _can,_ Bruce. He can, you don’t _know…”_

Someone was talking now, a man Bruce didn’t recognize. He slowly stepped through the overturned tables and chairs, past the guests who huddled together, traumatized. Climbing up the steps, he came face to face with Jerome, who grinned at him in a look that could have been friendly if he wasn’t holding a bloody knife in one hand and a loaded pistol in the other.

Bruce had missed what the man had said, but it was obviously a challenge to Jerome, who tilted his head almost condescendingly. “I’m very interested what you leverage is here, Mr…” 

“Theo Galavan.” the man spoke up, still advancing toward Jerome, who remained unperturbed.

“Well, Mr, Galavan, if you don’t sit down,” Jerome held up his pistol demonstratively, “I’m going to shoot you. In the face.”

The stranger shook his head, staring at the boy earnestly. “I know there is still some human decency left in you.”

The redhead laughed at that, and without warning, his assistant hit the man over the head with a mallet. He collapsed to the floor, and Jerome sniffed derisively. 

“Well, now that’s settled, what to do with the rest of our time until our dear Jimbo shows up?” he asked no one in particular, and Bruce turned to Jeremiah, hoping the movement would go unnoticed.

“He means Jim Gordon. _He’ll_ figure out how to stop this.”

Jeremiah nodded mutely, unable to look away from his twin, who was currently dragging up an unfortunate guest onto the stage and placing an apple on his head. Alfred appeared behind Bruce, watching the guards who stood in front off each of the doors with loaded guns.

“We need to find a way out of here, Master Bruce.” he muttered. “Who knows what that maniac will do if the police don’t get here in time…and even if they do get here, he might go berserk, along with his stooges there.”

“I don’t see anywhere that’s not guarded.” Bruce responded, equally quiet. His heart was racing in his chest, but he was determined not to show anyone how afraid he was. Before he could say another word, Jerome’s voice broke in.

“—our first _real_ victim of tonight. Poor rich boy, parents murdered in an alley—" 

Jeremiah stiffened beside Bruce, drawing in a sharp breath. 

“—and my favorite volunteer. Where is Bruce Wayne?”

The room fell silent, and Jerome’s eyes went from face to face, finally landing on Bruce’s. “There you are, Brucie. Don’t…” He trailed off, his stare drifting away from Bruce to the boy beside him. His smile tightened, then grew wider, stretching fiercely across his face as his eyes, the exact same shade of brown as Jeremiah’s, gleamed. “ _Oh.”_

“Bloody hell.” Alfred muttered behind them. Jeremiah’s breath hitched in his throat. Jerome kept staring.

“Well, this is _very interesting.”_ His voice dropped lower, became more menacing, and his hand curled tighter around the knife in his hand, blood still shining on the blade. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Bruce wanted to say something, wanted to tell Jerome that he could take him, but leave Jeremiah alone, wanted to tell Jeremiah that his brother wasn’t going to hurt him, that the police would be here soon enough, that somehow everything was going to be okay. But the look in Jerome’s eyes was so malevolent, so cruel, that every thought that rose to Bruce’s mind died on his lips. 

“Looks like you’re in for a treat tonight.” Jerome addressed the audience, but his eyes were still fixed on Jeremiah. “A main event _and_ an encore. Double the fun. Lucky you.”

His assistant, looking confused as to what Jerome was going on about, whispered something to him, and he waved her off. “Ah, whatever. I wanna have a little fun.” He grinned directly at his twin. “But first, to business. Brucie Wayne, up on stage!”

Alfred stepped forward. “I should say not.”

Jerome laughed. “You should say not, huh? Well, old man, _I’m_ running the show tonight, and _I_ say what we’re doing. And what we’re doing,” he pointed at Bruce with the knife, “is bringing the billionaire boy up here for all to see! You’d better hurry up, Brucie,” His voice dropped, lost its playfulness, and he aimed the gun in his other hand at Jeremiah. “or I might just have to convince you in other ways.”

Bruce swallowed hard and looked at Alfred helplessly, then began walking toward the stage before he could hesitate. 

Unseen by Jerome, Jim Gordon had crept into the room, stopping Alfred before the butler could intervene and quietly passing him a pistol. Jeremiah stared at Bruce in horror, taking a hesitant step forward as if to stop him, then freezing again, his hands clenched into fists. 

“Hurry up, Bruce, we don’t have all night.” Jerome spoke loudly into the microphone, feedback screeching in the air. Bruce paused at the foot of the stage, just as the man the assistant had knocked unconscious, Theo Galavan, sat up slowly, reaching into his pocket. Jim Gordon and Alfred aimed their guns at the redhead on the stage, who was watching Bruce, hands on his hips. “You’re the slowest walker I’ve ever seen, Bruce. It’s like you don’t want to be a part of this.” His assistant laughed. “You’d better pick up the pace, you’re not the only one I want to have some fun with toni—“

His words were cut off as Theo Galavan stood up behind him, whipping a knife out of his pocket and burying it deep into his neck. Jerome’s eyes went wide and his hands clutched at the air before he sank to his knees, his face a mask of surprise. Blood coursed out from between Galavan’s fingers, spilling on the white collar of Jerome’s shirt. Bruce jumped back, staring, and the room fell deathly silent. 

_What just happened?_ was the only thought that his mind could produce.

Lingering over the limp body on the floor for a moment before swiftly pocketing the knife, Galavan stood back up, glancing around with a look Bruce couldn’t decipher and barely even registered in the moment, he was so shocked by the sudden death of the boy on the stage. 

Jim Gordon took the moment to begins shouting orders to the attendees of the party, who all began speaking over one another as they rushed for the exits, where the guards had been removed by a team of police officers. Bruce rushed over to Alfred, who gripped his shoulders almost fiercely.

“What on earth were you thinking, Master Bruce, you could have been killed!”

“I wasn’t, though.” he said quietly, giving the butler an unsteady smile. He turned to Jeremiah, who was staring at the body on the stage as if in a trance, his eyes glazed over in shock and his entire body tense. Bruce touched him on the shoulder.

“Jeremiah. It’s over.”

He shivered, slowly dragging his gaze away from the carnage in front of him to his friend’s face, then nodded faintly. Bruce nodded back, then stopped.

“I’m…I’m sorry.” Was that the right thing to say? Jeremiah was obviously terrified of his brother, but he was his only family, and he had just seen him brutally murdered by a stranger. In and of itself, that had to be horrifying. 

“Th-thanks.” he murmured, twisting his hands together and closing his eyes as the crowd in front of him hid the view from sight. Bruce looked around for Jim Gordon, who was speaking to the man, Theo Galavan, off to the side. Galavan looked over at Bruce and met his gaze for a moment, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Bruce didn’t smile back.

“Come on, Miah, we should go.”

“Okay.” His voice was monotone, although the look in his eyes was a mixture of a thousand different emotions Bruce couldn’t even comprehend. 

They couldn’t go home, though, because Jim Gordon wanted to speak to Bruce. Fortunately, he hadn’t seen or heard about Jeremiah, who had disappeared off to the side of the room with Alfred, half-hidden by a curtain in the corner. It took almost an hour for Bruce to meet with the detective, and during that time, the crowd began to disperse, clearing out the room and leaving the spilled tables and chairs behind, along with the bloodstained stage. The assistant, after having seen Galavan attack Jerome, had disappeared without warning and no one had seen her since. The magician props still sat on the stage, abandoned and looking much more ominous when considering the homicidal maniac who had been using them. The row of knives gleamed on the tray in the faint light, pushed up against the bloodied target in the corner. 

When Bruce had finally finished speaking to Gordon and signed a statement saying he was unharmed, he pushed through the throng of officers surrounding the scene to head back to his butler and friend. His head was spinning from the chaos and the stress, and he could barely see straight, but something caught his attention as he passed. One of the detectives was talking to a forensics officer, who was taking down notes hurriedly. Scratching the back of his head, a perplexed and frustrated look on his face, the officer muttered, “Don’t bother Gordon about it just yet. Let him finish talking to the witnesses first.”

“But how do you think it happened?” the other persisted. “I know there was a crowd, and someone could have…”

“I don’t know.” the officer interrupted, exasperated. “I don’t know how this happened. I don’t know how a psycho like that could break into an event like this so easily, I don’t know how cops weren’t on the scene in time, and I have no idea,” he paused, taking a deep breath as if to steady his nerves, “how a body that was very clearly dead could have disappeared with no witnesses.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The interesting thing about Valeskas is that they don't tend to stay dead very long...


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

 

“Jim Gordon is here to speak with you.” Bruce looked up at the sound of Alfred’s voice, and stood up from where he’d been sorting through a stack of receipts from Wayne Enterprises’ monthly bills. 

“Detective Gordon?” he echoed, surprised, as he followed the butler down the hall.

“Yes, he wanted to ask you some additional questions about the charity ball.” Alfred pursed his lips disapprovingly. “ _I_ think he should leave well enough alone, now that it’s all over, and not harass you for details, but what do I know?” 

Bruce shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

The charity ball had only been the night before, but it felt like an eternity ago. Bruce hadn’t slept much that night, his nerves had been wound up so tightly they’d almost reached a breaking point, and he was sure Jeremiah had been in the same boat. Yet in the morning, after hours of staring at the ceiling, wide awake and images of the violence he had witnessed the night before playing in a loop through his head, he hadn’t been as exhausted as he’d thought he would be. Maybe it was the adrenaline that was still coursing through his body, or the way his thoughts were constantly churning, trying to process everything that had happened, but he had felt a restless sort of energy that had propelled him through the day. 

Stepping into the study, Bruce saw the detective standing by the window, hands clasped behind his back. “Hi, Bruce. Thanks for meeting with me.”

“It’s no trouble.” he replied politely, shutting the door behind him. “Is something wrong?”

Jim Gordon studied him carefully, as if trying to figure something out, then sighed. “Look, Bruce, I know this sounds crazy. And I’m not making any accusations, obviously, or hinting at anything, but…”

Realization swept over Bruce as the detective continued to flounder. “Jeremiah.” he said quickly, and Jim looked at him questioningly.

“What did you say?”

“You’re wondering about Jeremiah Valeska.” Bruce said calmly, but his mind was racing. How on earth was he going to convince Jim Gordon that the brother of the psychopath who had just held an entire room of Gotham’s elite hostage was innocent of any crime? The man was a detective…it was his job to find the guilty parties, and if he suspected Jeremiah of any involvement…Bruce bit his lip. “Jerome’s twin brother.”

Gordon let out a long breath. “A twin.” he murmured, nodding slowly. 

“Yes, and he didn’t know anything about this. I mean, he wasn’t a part of whatever plan Jerome was involved in. He was trying to hide from him.”

“Sort of handy that he happened to be in town at that very time though, isn’t it?” Jim asked suspiciously. 

“There’s a good explanation for everything, Detective. Really. He was going by a different name and everything to avoid his brother. It was just coincidence that Jerome was in Gotham.”

“We’re not allowed to believe in coincidence, Bruce.”

“Just because he’s Jerome’s brother doesn’t mean they’re alike. And besides, he was at the charity ball too, and Jerome was going to kill him if he hadn’t been stopped. So Jeremiah couldn’t have been working with him.”

Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. “Look, can I at least meet the kid? Where is he, anyway? Lee told me about him last night when I got home, said he was with you. I would’ve come over right away to ask you about it if I hadn’t been so busy.”

Bruce hesitated. He knew how intent Jeremiah was on keeping a low profile, how ingrained it was into his personality that he had to be as unknown as possible. Speaking to a police officer who could ask for a statement or even go to the point of bringing him into the station for questioning went against everything the redhead had worked for. But then Bruce remembered everything that had happened the night before.

_Jerome is dead._

_He’s dead, and that’s the end of it._

Still, he didn’t want to worry his friend with police business. “If this is all over anyway, why would you need to speak with him? Jerome isn’t going to continue killing people…everyone saw him die. That man…Theo Galavan…he killed him.” 

Jim sighed. “Bruce, I don’t really want to get into details, but this case is far from closed. There are still accomplices out there, uncaught,” his expression grew pained at the mention of accomplices, “and there are other things that have happened that we need to look into.”

Bruce frowned. “Other things?” 

“I don’t really have the time to talk about every…”

“What sort of things?” he pressed, knowing the detective had a million other duties to do, but his curiosity piqued at the same time. 

“Well, this is something we’re trying to keep under wraps, especially from the press, but I guess it’s important if you’re acquainted with his brother.”

“I’m his _friend_.” 

“Yes, fine. We’ll get back to that.”

“But what’s happened? What’re the other things you mentioned you’re investigating?”

“Well, I’m sure it’s just been a miscommunication or something and it’ll all be cleared up quickly enough,” the detective said unconvincingly, “but we weren’t able to locate the body to take back to the GCPD.”

Bruce’s eyes widened, his memory jolting back to the night before, and the murmured conversation of the two officers he’d passed. They’d mentioned the disappearance of a body as well, but Bruce had only half-registered the comment, his mind had been so preoccupied. Now, he stared at Gordon in disbelief.

“You mean it’s gone?”

He shrugged. “We had a homicide crew come to take the deputy mayor’s body to the morgue, and come back for Jerome’s, but when they did, it wasn’t there.”

Bruce shook his head. “Well, he couldn’t have just got up and walked away. He’s _dead.”_

“Wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve seen before.” Gordon muttered, half to himself. “You’re right, of course, Bruce, but the question still remains, where _is_ it? It’s disappeared, along with the weapon used to kill him.”

“No one saw anything?”

“No, but it wouldn’t have been hard to smuggle a dead body away if it had been done professionally. There was a large enough crowd where it could have gone unnoticed. But that doesn’t help us figure out who was involved.”

“What does this have to do with Jeremiah?”

Jim looked intently at Bruce. “You’re the one who told me he’s Jerome’s brother. They may not have been on good terms, but your _friend_ might have had just enough of a change of heart to help out whoever freed that maniac from Arkham.”

“It wasn’t just about being on good terms.” Bruce said firmly. “Jerome tried to _kill_ him when they were younger.”

“And who told you that? Jeremiah?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Bruce, I’m not trying to incriminate him. But I can’t pass up a lead, especially one as important as this. And I knew Jerome Valeska. I met him the night he murdered his mother Lila. No one thought he was a killer then, and as much as I don’t want to imply this, it could be the same situation with his twin.”

“If you knew Jerome,” Bruce said decidedly, “then you would know as soon as you met Jeremiah that they’re nothing alike.”

“So let me meet him.” 

Bruce hesitated, but there was no way around the situation. Gordon wasn’t going to be satisfied until he had the evidence he wanted, which was that the remaining Valeska twin wasn’t a homicidal maniac. Slowly, he went to retrieve his friend from his room, where he had been all morning. He opened the door reluctantly, wishing more than ever that he hadn’t gone to the charity ball in the first place.

Jeremiah was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at one of his maze drawings in his sketchbook, a lost look in his eyes. Bruce hesitated to break in, but Gordon was waiting downstairs, probably growing more suspicious by the minute, so he cleared his throat and Jeremiah looked up, startled.

“Hi, Bruce.” His voice sounded drained of any sort of emotion, but it wasn’t as apprehensive as it usually was, and the constantly watchful, uncertain expression that always lingered in the back of his eyes wasn’t there. 

“Hey. Um, I was wondering, would it be okay if you could answer some questions Detective Gordon has for you? He…Dr. Thompkins told him about you, I guess, and he’s just, you know…”

“Okay.” Jeremiah stood up, still holding the sketchbook but closing the cover almost possessively. He didn’t sound thrilled at the prospect, but at least he wasn’t going to flat-out refuse. He followed Bruce downstairs and into the study, and Jim cast a watchful eye over him.

“Detective Gordon, this is Jeremiah.” Bruce introduced him, feeling the tension that almost vibrated in the air between the two. _Just let him see that he wasn’t involved in any of this._

“You were at the event last night?” Gordon asked the redhead, who nodded, looking at the man with a serious expression. “Did you know your brother was going to be there?”

“No.”

“Did you know he was in Gotham?”

“After I saw the footage of the attack on the police station.” Jeremiah’s voice was cold, but there was a tentative edge that lay beneath it, and Bruce knew he was nervous, trying to choose his words with a precision that would avoid landing him in any trouble.

“Not before that?”

“No. If I had known, I would have left.”

“Where would you have gone?”

Jeremiah shrugged. “I don’t know. Somewhere he wasn’t.”

Jim crossed his arms. “Did you live in the circus with him at any point?”

The boy’s eyes grew wide. “How did you…”

“Haly’s Circus was passing through Gotham on the day he killed your mother. I happened to be on the scene, and conducted the investigation.” Jim paused. “He was acting very similarly to you at the time.”

Jeremiah shuddered. “Probably didn’t want to get caught.”

The detective’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

He threw a look at Jim that was a mixture of outrage and pain. “Can’t I understand my brother’s motive without being a murderer like him? I grew up with him, detective, I know how he thinks…thought.” he corrected himself, something like relief sweeping across his face at the remembrance. “But that doesn’t mean I have to be like him.”

Jim’s expression didn’t change, but his voice wasn’t so abrupt when he spoke. “There have just been some…unexpected complications to this case.”

Jeremiah’s eyes widened. “What?”

Jim shook his head, glancing at his watch. “I have someplace to be. Bruce can fill you on on the details.” He shot one final look at Jeremiah, who was holding tightly onto his sketchbook. “I’ll be checking in every once in a while to make sure there aren’t any…situations that need to be taken care of.” Nodding at the two of them, he made his way to the door. “Thanks, Bruce.”

They watched him leave, then Jeremiah turned to Bruce. “What did he mean by complications?” The look in his eyes had changed…the tense, frightened expression was back, and Bruce felt a sharp twinge of guilt for worrying him. He was finally free of the terror that had plagued him for his entire life, and now Bruce had to drag him back into it with Jim Gordon’s questions and suspicions. 

“It’s nothing much, not really a big deal…” he started, trying to think of a way to avoid the topic, and Jeremiah narrowed his eyes.

“What happened, Bruce?” His voice was quiet, but there was a faint tremor in it, and Bruce could see his friend’s deep-rooted fears rushing back to him just as soon as they had begun to leave. He looked away, out the window at the bleak morning sky, choked with clouds, and sighed.

“Apparently there was a…well, sometime before the investigation got underway…” Realizing he was only making things worse, he squared his shoulders and said quickly, “Jerome’s body’s gone missing.”  
Jeremiah stared at him, a faint frown creasing his features as he processed his friend’s words. “ _Missing?”_ he repeated softly, and Bruce gave a reluctant nod.

“I’m sure it’s probably nothing, maybe just a misunderstanding or an oversight between…” he began, then trailed off, knowing he had no good explanation. He felt a surge of anger at the unnamed officers who were supposed to have conducted the investigation. _That was their job, and they botched it._ “I don’t know, Miah. I don’t know what anyone would want with a dead body.”

Jeremiah gave him a quick, searching look, something indiscernible in his eyes. Then his expression cleared, as if he was trying to force the doubt from his mind. “Yes, he’s dead.” he murmured. “He’s…” Adjusting his glasses, he looked down at his sketchbook. “I _saw_ it.” It was as if Bruce wasn’t even there, and he was so caught up in reassuring himself. Bruce’s face twisted in regret.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let Detective Gordon…”

Jeremiah looked up absently. “Why did that man try to stop him?” he asked, and again it was more as if he was speaking to himself. Bruce paused.

“What man?”

“The one…the one who…”

“Mr. Galavan?” he supplied, and Jeremiah nodded. Bruce raised his hands in an “I don’t know” gesture. “He’s not even from Gotham, I don’t think. He didn’t even have a reason to put himself in danger.”

“He saved you.” Jeremiah commented.

“I know. Alfred told me to invite him to dinner to thank him.”

“Are you going to?”

“Alfred already did, for tomorrow night. I guess it’s the nice thing to do. He did save me.” Bruce felt badly for not having the overwhelming gratitude toward Theo Galavan he should have for saving his life. He hadn’t even met the man officially, only seeing him on the morning news and the night before, speaking to officers and reporters. He had no reason whatsoever to _not_ thank the man, and no reason to believe he didn’t have Bruce’s best interests in mind when he’d done what he did to Jerome. _Maybe,_ Bruce thought, trying to alleviate his concerns, _I just need to get to know him first, then I’ll be able to really appreciate what he’s done._

He realized then that Jeremiah had avoided the topic of the missing dead body almost entirely, which was a surprise. He’d expected the other boy to fixate on the unnerving detail, but he’d brushed it off with an attitude that was close to being dismissive. Yet there was still unease hiding behind the neutral expression on the redhead’s face, and Bruce began to wonder if he had intentionally tried to change the topic.

_He’s probably trying to avoid thinking about it…it must be horrible to know your brother who tried to kill you is dead, but no one knows where his body is._ And Bruce knew Jeremiah could obsess over a detail like that until it drove him out of his mind with anxiety…he was purposefully not thinking about it for his own good. Without thinking, he spoke up.

“Don’t worry about Jerome. We both saw what happened. You don’t have anything to be concerned about.” The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted it. Jeremiah turned pale and his eyes darted away from Bruce’s gaze, a shiver running through his frame. 

“What _did_ happen, Bruce?” he whispered, his voice beginning to shake. Slowly he looked back up, his eyes searching Bruce’s face, looking for answers he knew he couldn’t find. “Dead bodies don’t just _disappear.”_

“I don’t know, but it was probably just a misunderstanding.”

“What _sort_ of misunderstanding?” Jeremiah’s voice rose. “What sort of misunderstanding ends in a body going missing and no one having any idea where it is? That doesn’t happen, Bruce. Not by accident. You _know_ that.”

“What else could it be?” he persisted, knowing every option that was running through his friend’s head, yet determined to alleviate his fears. “You and I both saw what Mr. Galavan did. Jerome…”

“Is dead.” Jeremiah finished, almost desperately. “I know, I _know_ he’s dead, but I don’t…I keep thinking it’s not true, that maybe he’s still out there, and now he knows I’m here, in Gotham, and…and he knows about _you,_ and what if he kills you, Bruce? What if—"

“You’re talking like he’s still alive, Miah, and he’s not.” Bruce said firmly. “It’s just your imagination betraying you. You’re not thinking clearly, okay? Don’t let your mind trick you into thinking something’s happening when it’s not.”

“But…they said the body’s missing…how else could…”

Bruce stared at Jeremiah. _He really believes his brother’s still alive._ That was why he had tried to change the topic…Bruce could see the panic breaking through his calm demeanor. “There are a _thousand_ other possibilities.”

“Okay, name one.” Jeremiah shot back, crossing his arms.

Bruce paused. “Uh…well, I mean, it _was_ only last night. Maybe the wrong team of officers took it and it just hasn’t been cleared up yet. It could be something as simple as that.” Jeremiah didn’t look convinced. Bruce regretted even more that he had brought the subject up. “Or maybe, I don’t know, the reports got mixed up and it was about some other thing that had happened, there was another body that was missing, and there’s not even a problem at all.”

“Do you really believe that, Bruce?” Jeremiah asked quietly. 

“I believe what I see. And you know what I saw. What everyone saw. Jerome…Jerome’s gone.”

“It just doesn’t…it doesn’t seem right.” the redhead said hesitantly. “After all these years…to just see it happen like _that…”_

Bruce suddenly understood. Jeremiah had always thought his brother would be the one to kill _him,_ and to see Jerome murdered in front of him, to realize that everything he’d ever been afraid of was gone, that was like losing a part of himself. Even if it meant he could live without fear. Because his entire life had revolved around his terror of his brother finding him and killing him, and now even that possibility was gone. Even if he wanted to, Jeremiah couldn’t believe Jerome was really dead, because it wasn’t how he thought it would have been.

Bruce blinked, a memory flashing through his head. Pearls clattering onto the muddied alley floor, skittering across it in a million different directions. Blood staining the concrete below, mixing with the puddles from the rain the night before.

The sound of the shot still ringing in his ears like it had never stopped.

The way he would sometimes forget that it had ever happened.

“My parents…” he paused, forcing the words out. “My parents were the wealthiest people in Gotham. They owned multiple companies, they donated to every charity, they lived in _this_ manor,” he spread his arms, “and they died in an alley behind a movie theater. Shot by someone who still hasn’t been found. They weren’t supposed to die like that. But they did.”

Jeremiah looked at him, understanding beginning to push away the fear in his eyes. Bruce continued, “Sometimes I wouldn’t believe it, because it was _wrong._ Billionaires aren’t…they aren’t gunned down in the dark like that. Nobody thought that was how it would happen. _I_ didn’t, and I didn’t understand that they were really gone. Because I never thought it would end that way.” He looked intently at Jeremiah. “Jerome’s death wasn’t how anyone expected it either. He didn’t kill everyone in the room, he didn’t kill me, and he didn’t kill _you._ But that doesn’t mean he isn’t dead. It just means everyone was wrong about how it would happen. It doesn’t change anything.”

Jeremiah was silent for a moment, thinking hard, then he nodded slowly. Reluctantly, maybe, but with the realization that Bruce’s words made sense. That, despite the suddenness of it all, his brother was gone. “I still _feel_ like he’s here, though.” he protested softly, and Bruce shook his head.

“Sometimes I think my parents are still here. I think I hear them coming down the stairs, or I hear them talking in the study when I go to bed. But they _aren’t._ They aren’t coming back. They’re never coming back. And…neither is Jerome.”

Slowly, the uncertainty in Jeremiah’s eyes faded, and although he didn’t smile, Bruce could see the relief that replaced it. “I guess you’re right.” 

“And you know what, we don’t even need to talk about this anymore.” Bruce said firmly, steering the conversation in a different direction. The last thing either of them needed was to dwell on what had happened last night. It was all over for them, and talking about it would only draw it out longer. “Selina’s dropping by later after dinner, I think, and maybe you can teach her how to really play chess this time.”

Jeremiah cracked a smile. “I don’t know if she’d appreciate that.”

“She’d do anything to beat you. Even listen to an explanation that the knights aren’t meant for ammunition when she starts losing.”

The tension lifted, they both laughed.

 

\+ + + + + + 

 

Late afternoon sunlight shone through the windows of the penthouse overlooking the city, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floor. The man standing by the window, surveying the view below, listened to the faint creaking of the floorboards that followed the sound of a door opening, and laced his fingers together, not turning around. 

“What a crowd last night, huh?” the newcomer’s voice broke the silence. “And I’ve always wanted to be famous.”

“I’d prefer you to not go quite so off-script next time if you can help it.” the man said quietly, and the other scoffed.

“What’s the big deal, you got what you wanted.”

“I did, but it would have been easier if you hadn’t gone off on quite so many tangents. It could have all been over much quicker.”

“I’m not here for easy, my man. I’m here for fun.”

“I would think twice about that if I were you. Fun isn’t what I advertised when I began this endeavor.”

“Oh, you know I never think twice.” The words were followed by a laugh. “Spoils the excitement.”

“What _did_ prompt you to say what you said? Who exactly were you thinking of adding to your list of victims for the night after the boy?”

There was a pause. “It wasn’t anyone. Just some guy I noticed. I didn’t like his face.” 

“Really.” The man narrowed his eyes as he continued to stare out over the cityscape of Gotham. “Well, keep in mind what I told you. We’re going to keep this as precise and as neat as possible. It’s the only way for me to get what I want.”

“Yeah, about that.” There was another creak as the second speaker plopped down on one of the armchairs in the corner. “What exactly _is_ your big plan? You haven’t said anything about it.”

“I’m still working on that.” the man said coldly. “But don’t worry. Things will fall in place soon enough, and I’ll find a way to make sure it’s all in order.”

“You know you can’t just outright kidnap a kid. Not _that_ kid, and not if you wanna stay on the front page longer than a day. That’d be the only news they’d print if golden boy disappears, and you’d be a tired old side column story.”

“I’m aware.” His voice was distant, but when he turned to face his companion, his dark eyes were intense and steady. “But I’m not going to kidnap him.”

“Well, how else are you plannin’ on doing it? He ain’t just gonna waltz in here and give himself up, is he?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” A small smile spread across the man’s features, and he crossed the room, affectionately tapping a newspaper with the words “ _Gotham Newcomer Saves Room of Hostages”_ emblazoned across the front. “He might be more than willing to comply if the circumstances are right.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

 

“Who?” Jeremiah looked at Bruce with raised eyebrows, and the latter grinned as he flopped down onto the couch in the library. 

“Silver St. Cloud. Mr. Galavan’s niece. Well, step-niece, apparently. He introduced us at dinner.” Bruce clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the wall. Jeremiah returned to the book he was reading.

“Okay.”

“We’re going to hang out tomorrow.” Bruce continued, as if he was proud of the fact. “At the park downtown. She’s never been, and it’s really pretty this time of year.”

Jeremiah looked back up. “I thought you didn’t like hanging out with people.”

“I hang out with you. And Selina.”

“Yeah, but isn’t this girl a stranger? I mean, I didn’t think you would be the sort of person to immediately go out of your way to spend time with someone you just met.”

Bruce shrugged. “Silver’s different. She’s just really nice. I want to get to know her, you know?”

The other boy narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at his friend. “Does Selina know?”

Bruce looked confused. “Why would I tell Selina?”

“You’re telling _me.”_

“What is there to tell? It’s not like it’s the end of the world just because I happen to be hanging out with a friend.”

“Since when do _you_ make friends overnight?” Jeremiah asked, closing his book and staring Bruce in the eye.

“Wow, by the look on your face, you’d think I just announced I’m going to dye my hair green or something equally crazy. I didn’t realize I seemed _that_ unfriendly to everyone if that's what you think of me.”

“Not unfriendly,” Jeremiah hastened to say. “I just meant…”

“She’s staying in Gotham, too.” Bruce interrupted, and Jeremiah sat back, listening. “With her uncle. At least for now. So I’ll be able to see her again.”

“That’s good.” 

“Maybe she can come to the manor sometime. To hang out with us. You, me, Selina. That’d be fun.”

Jeremiah looked uncertain. “I don’t know, Bruce. If her uncle…if he's the one who…who killed Jerome,” he lowered his voice unconsciously, like he didn’t even want to consider the memory, “she might not really want to be friends with _me.”_

“Oh.” Bruce considered that for a moment. “But Miah, she’s really nice.”

“So I heard.”

“She’d probably understand. I don’t think she’d compare you to Jerome or anything like that. In fact, I don’t know how much she even knows about what her uncle did, aside from the fact that he saved everyone in that room.”

Jeremiah shrugged. “Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced. “How did dinner with Mr. Galavan go?”

“It was good. He talked about Wayne Enterprises a lot. And then Silver came in and we talked for a while.” Jeremiah looked like he was trying to act interested and failing. “I didn’t mention you, by the way. I was pretty sure you’d rather not have me do that.”

“Thanks.”

“Did you know Silver’s been to Switzerland? The villa her family stayed at was only about ten minutes away from the one my family used to go to.”

“No, I didn’t know that. Probably because _I’m_ not the one that spent an entire afternoon with her.” Jeremiah said drily. Bruce rolled his eyes.

“Why are you so against everything I say about her?”

“I’m not. I’m just surprised you like her so much.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Jeremiah said impatiently, “you don’t usually make friends so quickly.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I have a _problem_ making friends. It’s just I don’t happen to meet people who I’d like to be friends with every day. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing.” Jeremiah said calmly, going back to his book. “I don’t really care.”

“I thought you’d be more supportive of me making a friend.” Bruce frowned.

“Well, I tried to be, and you took it the wrong way.” 

Bruce deflated. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“Have you…” He paused, hesitant. “Have you heard from Detective Gordon yet?”

“Miah, it’s only been one day since he was here. I thought I’d give him some time to work on the case for a while before I asked him if there was any news about anything.”

“So it wasn’t a police misunderstanding.” Jeremiah pointed out. “If the…if the body’s still missing, then it wasn’t a mix-up or anything. Someone else was a part of it.”

“Weird things happen all the time with crime scenes.” Bruce tried to sound like an expert, although he had no idea if it was true or not. “It just seems worse because we were _there._ This probably isn’t anything unusual."

“It was unusual enough for Detective Gordon to come by the house and ask if I was involved.” Jeremiah said with more than a hint of bitterness. Bruce sighed.

“It’ll all get cleared up soon. I know it will. And then this’ll all be over.” He paused, reflecting. “It _is_ over. We’ve seen the worst of it, and we’re still here. It’s all going to be okay.” Jeremiah didn’t reply, but the worry that had flashed across his face was mostly gone again, and Bruce considered that better than nothing. “Hey, do you want to play cards or something? Alfred’s busy and there’s nothing to do around here.”

Jeremiah set his book aside. “Okay.”

“Do you know any good card games? I forget how to play most of them.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you ask your new best friend Silver?”

Bruce threw the deck of cards, bound together with a rubber band, at him. “Oh, shut up.”

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

“This sucks.” Selina muttered, slouching in the window seat and pulling apart the embroidery on the curtains. Jeremiah, who had been drawing intently and not listening up to that point, looked up, adjusting his glasses.

“What?”

“Them.” She stabbed at the window with her finger, gesturing to the pair in the garden below, wandering through the flower beds that had been kept in pristine condition. Her eyes narrowed as Bruce bent down to pick a daffodil for Silver. “Acting like they’re the first human being each other’s seen. There’s nothing _special_ about that dope.”

“Which one’s the dope?” Jeremiah asked, still only half paying attention. 

“Her, obviously. Though Bruce isn’t much better. For the past three weeks it’s been _Silver this_ and _Silver that_ and _Did you know Silver’s apparently the only cool person in the world?_ and I’m sick of it.” She smacked the glass with an open palm to emphasize her point. Jeremiah got up to look over her shoulder. 

“At least he’s got another friend.”

Selina wheeled around indignantly. “He doesn’t _need_ another friend, he has us!” 

“But she seems nice.”

“Yeah, nice enough for Bruce to have the biggest crush ever on her.” she snorted. Jeremiah tilted his head, studying the two outside who were unaware that they were the subject of conversation.

“You think he has a crush on her?”

Selina snapped her fingers sharply in his face. “Do you need a new pair of glasses to see what’s right in front of you, Miah? She’s got him wrapped around her little finger. He’s practically drooling right now.”

“Maybe he’s just being nice to her.” he offered half-heartedly.

She rolled her eyes, turning back to scowl out the window. “Since you clearly have no concept whatsoever of the most obvious things, let me explain. Bruce has found a girl who he thinks is like the greatest person ever, which _apparently_ neither of _us_ were good enough for, and he’s going to spend _all_ his time with her from now on. Trust me, I know more about life than you do.” She jabbed him in the arm to emphasize her point. Jeremiah chewed his lip.

“But we’re still his friends.”

“Oh yeah, _sure_ , but friends aren’t as important as the apparent love of your life _.”_ she said sarcastically. “I mean, look at us. He’s basically locked us in your room so he doesn’t have to bother with us being around while he and that Silver chick hang around in his garden.”

Jeremiah frowned uncertainly. “But…”

“And you know what?” Selina continued, bounding up out of the window seat and onto the bed, where she stood with her arms crossed. “It’s all her fault. She roped him in looking all sweet and cute and nice and whatever.” Kicking a pillow off the bed in annoyance, she glared at the window. “But underneath I bet she’s not such a golden child.”

“What do you mean?” He looked up at her, confused. Selina sat down on the bed, shooting another poisonous glance at the pair outside, both unconscious of what she was saying about them.

“She’s _too_ nice. No one’s really like that. She’s being nice to him because she wants something, I’ll bet anything. I don’t trust her.”

“Well, you can’t really do much about it.” Jeremiah said reasonably, sitting down beside her and keeping his eyes on the window. “If you don’t have any proof.”

Selina narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Then I’ll get proof.”

“How?”

She threw her arms wide, almost hitting him in the face, and Jeremiah ducked. “ _Somehow_. I’m not gonna sit around and wait for Bruce to get over that girl and go back to being normal. It could take him months if we don’t do something.”

“Months?” Jeremiah echoed uneasily, and Selina looked pointedly at him.

“See, it’s not so great now that you realize he’s going to spend all his time with her now, is it? And leave us behind.”

“Bruce wouldn’t do that.” Jeremiah defended his friend, but he felt a twinge of uncertainty. Could that really happen? Bruce had been nothing but the best of friends to him, he wasn’t going to abandon all that on a whim, was he?

_He doesn’t even know that girl._

“Oh yes he would.” Selina said decidedly. “He might not realize he’s doing it, but he would do it all the same. I’m telling you, it sucks.”

Jeremiah frowned slightly. “You really think that?”

“Miah, I _know_ it.” she said authoritatively. “And I know she’s nothing but trouble for him.”

“Okay, but you still can’t do anything about it.” he pointed out, trying to sound reasonable, and Selina grimaced.

“You’re not really helping me here.”

“Well, what exactly do you want me to do? You just said he isn’t going to listen to either of us.”

She sighed long-sufferingly. “I don’t know. I just know that girl isn’t the perfect angel Bruce thinks she is. And I don’t want to lose him to her.” For a moment, real sadness flashed in her eyes. “He may be an idiot, but he’s _our_ idiot.”

They silently watched Bruce and Silver out the window, each lost in their own thoughts. Selina trying to concoct a way to win her friend back and keep the other girl away, Jeremiah wondering with increasing uncertainty if Bruce really would abandon them both for her. 

Down in the garden, Bruce was talking to Silver about her starting school at Anders Prep and not thinking about his friends in the manor in the least.

 

\+ + + + + + + +

 

“Has she found anything yet?” The dark-haired woman with a whip and throwing knife hanging from a holster at her hip entered the penthouse, heels clicking on the floor. Striding into the kitchen and rifling through the fridge, she threw a glance over her shoulder at the man sitting at a mahogany desk, filling out a stack of paperwork. He looked up, setting down the pen he was holding.

“Not yet, but give her time. She's only had three weeks. You people are so impatient around here.” 

She scoffed. “I just thought being quick about this was important to you.” 

“It is, but certain things can’t be rushed.” He turned back to the papers on the desk calmly. “And don’t worry, she’ll find something for us.”

“She said there wasn’t anyone around at the manor. Just his butler. Every time she's been there.” The woman closed the fridge door, pulling the knife out of her belt and examining it. “Why don’t we just take him and get this over with?”

“Two reasons, Tabby. Firstly, like I have said _multiple_ times, this must be done in way that doesn’t distract the public from the ways I am helping the city. Alfred Pennyworth is just as much a figure of the Wayne family as his employers were, and if there were to be a disappearance, then it would end up all over the news, even if we demanded silence. Whoever we do find cannot have that sort of public presence. You know that. It's the reason we didn't simply take Bruce Wayne himself...this has to be kept quiet. Secondly, you saw Pennyworth at the charity ball. The man can hold his own, even taken by surprise. He's a trained fighter, and a formidable opponent in any circumstance. That much is obvious. We cannot risk something of that nature…this _must_ go off without a hitch. Otherwise word will get out, the police will hear about it, and everything we’ve worked for,” he slammed a hand down on the desk for emphasis, “will have gone to waste.”

“Okay, but what else can we do?” she argued. “If Silver’s right, the kid doesn’t have connections with anyone beside the butler. And he’s a billionaire. If there's anyone else that matters to him, they’re not going to be nameless nobodies. They’ll be the children of social elitists and big-time businessmen. You think _that_ wouldn’t draw attention in the news if they happened to go missing?" She put the knife back into its sheath and came to stand on the other side of the desk. "And you don’t even know if any of them are his friends. You could be risking everything you just started for yourself with this scheme of yours."

He tapped his pencil impatiently against a stack of paper. “Don’t worry, Tabby, things will work out in the end. Let Silver keep working, and we’ll pull some more strings for further investigation on this. She'll find someone. I have faith in her."

She sighed. “Well, okay. But you’d better get working on this. He’s getting impatient,” she jerked a thumb toward a closed door that led to another room in the penthouse, “to have some fun. And you know what happens when he's bored...I mean, you used to have a veritable gang of those psychos, but look what he did to them at the police station. There's a reason he's the only one left, and I have no doubt he'd think twice about coming for you if it meant he'd enjoy himself."

"Tabitha, if you think I am intimidated by that lunatic, then you need to reconsider. I am the reason he's free...I could kill him in the blink of an eye if I wanted. He's only alive because of the potential I saw in him. Potential usefulness."

"Maybe you could send him to collect whoever you decide on for this plan.”

He rolled his eyes. “Please, send _that_ madcap psychopath? Not a chance. He’ll most likely come in handy sometime, I’m sure, but not for this. This,” he said emphatically, looking the woman directly in the eyes, “is about Bruce Wayne. And before we begin thinking as far ahead as you just have, we need to wait until Silver can bring us the information we need."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to put Miah and Selina both being jealousTM of Silver in a fic for a long time...poor Bruce with his weirdly possessive friends XD


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

 

“Check and _mate_!” Selina shouted, bounding to her feet and practically dancing around Jeremiah in triumph. “Ha, see, I knew I’d beat you.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” he moved one of his chess pieces to take her last remaining knight cornering his king, “but you haven’t beaten me yet.”

She abruptly paused in her victory dance. “Are you kidding me?” Knowing it would annoy him to no end, she pushed his carefully combed hair over his eyes before stepping around him and sitting down on the other side of the chess set.

“Selina!” Jeremiah protested, aggrieved, as he tried to fix his hair, only succeeding in making it stand on end. She laughed.

“Chill, I deserve to have some fun too.”

He nodded at the board. “It’s your turn.”

“Oh, just call it a draw, I’m not gonna win with two pieces left.” she scoffed, lying flat on the ground and staring up at the ceiling. “Hey, how about you go ask Alfred what’s for lunch.”

“You ask him.”

“No way. He always kicks me out of the kitchen. Just because of one time when I took this antique spoon thingy that I didn’t even know was worth like a thousand dollars.”

“You’re the one who wanted to know, I’m not going to ask him for you.”

“He likes you more than me, you’ll be safe.”

Jeremiah set the chess board back up. “He didn’t for a while. After the…after what happened at the charity ball.”

“Yeah, but he’s fine now. So go.”

The door to the study opened, cutting their argument short. They both looked up to see Bruce and Silver standing in the doorway, staring at them. Silver’s eyes darted to Selina in confusion, then turned to Jeremiah. Her expression didn’t change noticeably, but for the slightest of seconds, her eyes narrowed the slightest amount and confusion flashed across her face. Bruce stepped back, his eyes wide as he looked at both of his friends, then Silver. 

Selina took the moment to rocket up off the floor and onto the couch, where she stared intently at Silver with raised eyebrows. Jeremiah scrambled to his feet, backing away as he fiddled nervously with the chess piece in his hands. There was silence in the room until Bruce cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Uh…Silver, these are my friends.” he said slowly, and she smiled at the pair in the study, unperturbed. 

“Hello.”

Bruce gestured for them to come closer. Selina did, almost aggressively, and Jeremiah hesitated, still staring anxiously at Silver as if waiting for her to realize who he was. But she looked him straight in the eye and didn’t flinch, didn’t even look the slightest bit afraid.

She didn’t even seem to recognize him as Jerome’s twin.

_But she has to know._ he told himself, almost desperately. _Everyone knows what happens, who he was…_

“This is…” Bruce held out a hand toward Selina, “this is my friend Selina Kyle.”

Silver smiled at her, but there was something condescending behind her eyes. It was almost imperceptible, and Bruce didn’t even notice, but Selina saw, and she didn’t smile back.

“And this,” Bruce hesitated, glancing at Jeremiah, unsure if he should use his real name or not.

“Jeremiah Valeska.” he introduced himself quietly, steeling himself for whatever reaction that might elicit from her. Silver turned her smile to him.

“You look familiar.” she said thoughtfully, without a hint of accusation in her tone. Jeremiah looked down, waiting for her to voice what he was sure they were all thinking. _Just say it and get it over with. Please._ “I feel as if I’ve seen you before, on the news or something. But,” she continued, shaking her head decisively, “I don’t really ever watch the news, so that couldn’t be it.”

“You don’t keep up with any of…that?” he asked cautiously, and Silver nodded.

“No. There’s always something so sad happening, I don’t like to hear about it.” She looked at him earnestly. “I don’t think I’ve heard a single thing about what’s happened in this city since I’ve came here!”

Jeremiah relaxed slightly at that. If she was telling the truth, it was possible she didn’t even know about Jerome. 

And by default, she wouldn’t blame him for his brother’s crimes. For once, he wouldn’t have to be seen as no more than the identical twin of a murderer and psychopath. 

_But how does she really not know anything about it? Her own uncle was the one who…_

Bruce, sensing the tension in the air, was looking uncertainly at Selina, who was looking back at him with a unfriendly expression. Silver turned away from Jeremiah. “So, Selina, have you known Bruce for a long time?” she asked sweetly. The other girl shrugged.

“ _I’ve_ known him for over a year.” The implications were clear. _And you haven’t._

Silver didn’t seem to pick up on it, though. Or if she did, she showed no sign of being offended. “Oh, that’s nice. Where do you live?” She opened her eyes wide, looking Selina up and down, and the latter knew she had no doubt where she lived, only wanted to hear her say it aloud. 

“I’m between places at the moment.” she said slowly, crossing her arms. What else could she say, when Bruce was standing right there between them? She couldn't outright insult Silver…with the way things were going, there was no doubt Bruce would be furious with her. And as much as she hated to admit her feelings toward him, Selina didn’t want that to happen.

“And Bruce is letting you stay here?” Silver asked innocently, smiling again. Selina narrowed her eyes.

“Nope. I was just stopping by.”

“Oh.” she nodded. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you.”

Selina nodded brusquely, retreating back to the couch. Silver turned her attention to Bruce.

“Why don’t we all go down to the park for the afternoon?” She looked over at Selina and Jeremiah. “Bruce took me there the other week, and it’s absolutely beautiful.”

“Thanks, but no.” Selina said, a bit too sharply. “I don’t like parks. _I’d_ rather do things that aren’t boring.” Catching the confused and disapproving look Bruce threw at her, she tacked on as an afterthought, “And I’m busy.”

“Oh, okay.” Silver looked a bit deflated at that, but brightened up as she turned to Jeremiah. “What about you?”

He shook his head slowly. It had been less than a month since the incident at the charity ball, and he hadn’t worked up the courage to go anywhere out in public after that…his brother’s face had been on the news, broadcast into every home in Gotham. There were indisputably disadvantages to having an identical twin who also happened to be a deranged lunatic…even if Jerome was dead, (and he _was_ dead, Jeremiah told himself firmly, no matter what sort of fears still lurked in the back of his mind like formless shadows) he wasn’t _gone._ People would remember him for what he’d done, and Jeremiah wasn’t sure he could work up the courage to cross paths with anyone who had any knowledge whatsoever about his brother.

His friends knew he wasn’t Jerome, but convincing every member of the general public he met…well, that would be another matter entirely. And not one he wanted to face for as long as he could manage.

Silver looked significantly less enthusiastic once they had both rejected her idea, and she looked persuasively at Bruce. “We could have so much fun, you know.” she said, her brown eyes wide and pleading. “And I don’t want to leave your friends out. I’d feel horrible if I was keeping you away from them.” Selina scoffed and Silver glanced over at her. “Or we could just do something here.” she finished, and Bruce nodded eagerly.

“I’ll go ask Alfred to bring lunch.” he said, then turned and left. Silver sat down on the couch, on the furthest end away from Selina, and smoothed her skirt. Jeremiah, noticing he was still gripping onto the chess knight, set it back down on the board. Glancing back and forth at the two occupants of the study who were staring at her expectantly, Silver decided to break the silence.

“So, what do you guys like to do?” 

Selina, now that Bruce was safely out of sight, rolled her eyes. “What we like to _do?”_

She nodded. “Hobbies and such.”

“Jeez, what is this, twenty questions?”

Silver’s face fell. “I was just wondering. I’d like to get to know you.”

“Well,” Selina said airily, running a hand through her curly hair, “I steal things.”

Silver gave an incredulous laugh. “No, really, what do you do?”

Jeremiah saw a hard edge in the girl’s expression hiding beneath her smile, and he knew she was trying to get Selina to argue with her. It wasn’t what he had expected from the innocent-faced newcomer, and he shook his head at himself. _You’re only thinking that because of what Selina’s been saying. That she’s taking Bruce from us. Really, she seems nice enough_. 

“I’m the mayor of Gotham.” Selina was saying, sarcasm heavy in her tone. Silver’s smile disappeared slowly.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No, I’m really the mayor. Ask Miah here.” She pointed at Jeremiah, who didn’t say anything. He didn’t want Selina antagonizing Silver, not because he liked the latter, but because he didn’t want to be caught up in the tension between the two. And if Bruce caught wind of it…well, that would only make things worse. He wasn’t going to risk that friendship for a joke with Selina, who scowled at him when she saw he wasn’t going to play along.

“Jeremiah, what do you like to do?” Silver turned her back on Selina.

“Um, you mean…like, in general? Or…”

“Just for fun.” she offered, smiling at him. He didn’t notice even a glimpse of the momentary maliciousness he’d seen in the way she’d looked at Selina, and smiled back faintly. Yes, she had been keeping Bruce away from them, and Jeremiah didn’t exactly hold her in the highest regard, but he also hated conflict, and if it required him to be polite to avoid it, then he would.

“Well, I…I like engineering.” He hesitated. “And drawing.”

“Oh, what sort of pictures do you draw?” she asked, looking wholly absorbed in what he was saying. 

"I don’t really draw pictures.” he explained, almost apologetically. “More like mazes and…and things like that. Designing things.”

“Mazes?” she echoed incredulously, and he nodded, not knowing what else to say.

“It’s kind of dumb, I know, I just…”

“Oh, no it’s not!” she said quickly, clasping her hands over her knee. “It sounds fascinating. You know what, my uncle was involved in the production of several buildings and things in the city he used to live in. He would probably like to hear what sort of things you’d have to say about engineering and such. You should meet him sometime.”

Jeremiah paled, picturing the thought of meeting the man who had killed his brother. There was no doubt in his mind that Galavan would consider him just as much of a threat. After all, who wouldn’t? Even Selina and Alfred had been wary for a while. And now Jim Gordon, _and_ Lee Thompkins…sometimes Jeremiah felt like everyone was against him. 

Except for Bruce, of course. 

Never Bruce.

“Um, maybe.” he said quietly, not wanting to dispute the suggestion with Silver at the moment, but knowing with absolute certainty that he would never go out of his way to arrange a meeting with Theo Galavan. It was stressful enough being in the same room (not to mention holding a conversation) with his niece, even if she didn’t seem to know anything about Jerome or even the charity ball.

“Are you both from Gotham?” Silver continued, glancing back over her shoulder at Selina, who nodded curtly. Jeremiah didn’t answer for a moment, hoping she wouldn’t press the matter, but when Silver turned back to him curiously, he had to say something.

“No…but I’ve lived here for a few years now.” he said vaguely, suddenly wishing that Bruce would hurry back. 

“Oh, do you have family here?” she pressed on, and Jeremiah gripped the back of the armchair tightly, staring down at the chessboard on the table between them.

“Not anymore.” He spoke quietly, desperately hoping she wasn’t going to question that. Thankfully, Bruce chose that moment to reappear, and the conversation turned to other topics. Jeremiah, not wanting another moment of interrogation, unintentional as it might have been, stayed silent, which he was perfectly fine with, since the two girls seemed intent on spending the rest of the time flinging veiled insults at one another under the guise of friendliness, with the oblivious Bruce caught in the middle. Jeremiah had no issue dropping out of _that_ conversation.

But he noticed, when Silver got up to leave an hour later, her eyes lingered on his face longer than anyone else’s, and the smile she gave him looked empty.

As if she was hiding behind her own face like a mask.

 

\+ + + + + + + 

 

Theo Galavan strode into one of the penthouse bedrooms, his figure silhouetted by the evening light streaming in the windows behind him. He shut the curtains with a snap and turned to face the room’s occupant, who was lounging in an armchair in the corner, throwing darts lazily at the target on the opposite wall. 

“Jerome.”

The redhead looked up, tilting his head questioningly. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

“Silver just came back from Wayne Manor, and she—"

“Ooh, another date with loverboy? How’s it going between them, by the way? They set a date for the wedding? I wanna be the flower girl.”

Galavan didn’t look amused. “She discovered something that I wanted to discuss with you.”

“That Brucie Wayne is the best kisser in Gotham? I was wondering about that, actually, and—"

“Who is Jeremiah?” Galavan cut in, and Jerome broke off abruptly, his grip tightening on the dart in his hand. The sudden silence between them was heavy, laden with unspoken questions on both parts. Finally, Jerome stirred and laughed airily.

“Jeremiah? That’s a stupid name. Sounds like a dork. Probably picks the tomatoes out of his sandwiches and wears shoes whenever he walks on grass because he’s scared of bugs.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a brother?” Galavan was staring at Jerome with narrowed eyes, and the latter shrugged.

“He was so boring that I completely forgot about him. Just,” he twirled his finger at the side of his head, “slipped from my memory.”

“I’d like a real answer.” Galavan said coldly. “Did you know he’s living at Wayne Manor at the moment, and apparently good friends with Bruce himself?”

Jerome raised one eyebrow, interest breaking through his expression. “Now _that_ is news to me. Broski hanging out with Bruce, huh? What a pair. Bet Silver thought she’d gone crazy when she saw him, right? Except I wouldn’t be caught dead in those glasses he wears. Those things are hid-e-ous.” He suddenly threw the dart in his hand at the target, and there was a faint thud as the projectile landed in the bullseye.

“You seem to remember him well enough now.” 

“Yeah, I was just messing with you before.” he smirked, readying another dart. 

Galavan stepped between him and the target. “So why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Try a better answer.”

“Okay. I don’t have a brother, I’m actually able to teleport and that was me she saw in the manor. Glasses and all.” He cast a sly look at the man, laughter dancing in his eyes as he tapped the point of the dart with one finger. “That a better answer?”

Galavan sighed long-sufferingly, and it was clear he was much more angry than he was letting on. “Jerome, I hope you realize the precariousness of your position. I have had multiple chances to kill you in these previous weeks, and the only reason you are alive right now is because you could be a valuable asset to me.”

“My ass is valuable to everyone, my good sir.” he grinned.

“ _Asset_.” Galavan said sternly, dropping any pretenses of patience. “However, I will not hesitate to kill you if you are no longer useful. And knowing that you had a brother who happens to be friends with Bruce Wayne could have been a _very_ useful piece of information to reveal.”

“Already told you, I didn’t know he was friends with Brucie.” Jerome paused. “I mean, I _thought_ he might be, considering they were hangin’ out at the hospital party thing, but I didn’t _know…”_

“So you saw him then? At the charity ball?” Galavan interrupted, his eyes smoldering. Jerome nodded, blissfully careless of the seething man’s rage. “You saw him four weeks ago, and you never said anything?”

“I didn’t see why I should. It’s none of your business.”

“It will be now.”

Jerome’s gaze snapped to Galavan’s face with a sudden intensity. “Don’t kill him.”

The man frowned, unable to conceal the surprise that crossed his face. “That’s a strange thing to hear from you.”

He stood up slowly, brushing past Galavan to fling the dart at the board with deadly aim and precision, defying his laid-back attitude moments before. There was a gleam in his brown eyes that sent an involuntary shiver down the man’s spine…although he had no doubt in his ability to take down Jerome if he ever needed to, there was something unnerving about the boy that he could never quite shake. 

“I don’t want you to kill him,” Jerome explained, a broad, lethal grin spreading across his face, his voice dropping until Galavan realized he was talking to himself more than anything else, “because he isn’t _your_ target.”

“This could be the key to everything I’m working toward.” Galavan spoke calmly, but he was unable to contain the urgency in his tone. “So, in a way, whether you like it or not, he _is_ our target.”

“No no no, not ours.” Jerome corrected him. The dart cut through the air faster than the eye could follow, embedding itself in the center of the target beside the one he’d thrown before. The redhead turned slowly to face the man beside him, the intensity in his eyes so great that they seemed to burn holes in whatever he was looking at. 

“He’s _mine.”_


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

 

The sudden ringing of the kitchen phone broke the peaceful silence of the manor, and Alfred picked it up. He listened for a moment, one eyebrow raised, then glanced at Bruce and Jeremiah, who were sitting at the kitchen table absorbed in some sort of conversation about sustainable energy for the city. Silver had declined visiting that day, and Selina was nowhere to be found, which was an opportunity Jeremiah had seized with enthusiasm to have Bruce all to himself. Alfred cleared his throat and the two looked over at him. He held out the phone.

“Caller for you, Master Jeremiah.”

Jeremiah froze, confusion and fear rushing across his face. “For _me?”_

“That’s what he says.”

“I don’t know anyone…”

“Says he wants to speak with you.”

He stared. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Theo Galavan.” Alfred replied, looking just as bemused. Jeremiah’s eyes were impossibly wide behind his glasses, and he looked ready to bolt out of the room. All three of them were silent for a long moment, then Alfred covered the receiver. “Don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Jeremiah drew in a shaking breath. “How…how does he know…” His eyes met Bruce’s, and the same realization instantly dawned upon them. “Silver told him?”

Bruce shook his head. “She must not have known.” He left the sentence hanging unfinished in the air, not wanting to voice the rest of what he had been about to say. Jeremiah filled it in anyway.

“That her uncle killed my…killed Jerome?” he shot back, gripping on to the edge of the table. “And now…now he knows…”

“Miah, whatever he wants, it can’t be something bad.” Bruce said reassuringly, seeing the abject terror in his friend’s eyes. “You know I’ve met him, and I can tell he wouldn’t hold a grudge against you just because of Jerome. He’s reasonable, and he can’t be calling to condemn you of anything.”

Jeremiah didn’t move. “But why _would_ he be calling then?” he argued, his voice trembling. “What does he want with me?”

Bruce shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Of course Silver must have said something…we never told her _not_ to, and if she didn’t know about Jerome, then there was no reason for her not to say something to her uncle. But it can’t be anything bad, right? You know it can’t.”

Alfred broke in. “Are you going to speak with him, then?”

“Can you…can you ask him what he wants?” Jeremiah asked faintly, hating himself for being so paranoid. After all, there was nothing left for him to be afraid of, was there? Everything he’d been running from was gone, he had no excuse to hide anymore. 

_You’re a coward. If_ Bruce _was in the same situation, he wouldn’t hide. He’d face his fears. He would never let them control him._

_But you can’t do that, can you, because you’re not Bruce._

_You’re not like him._

_You’ll never be like him._

Alfred was talking to Galavan on the other end of the line, and looked back up. “He says he would simply like to meet, and possibly talk over some of your engineering ideas he’s been hearing about from Silver. He also says,” the butler paused, listening, “he knows that you’re probably somewhat tentative about meeting with him, and he understands if you wish to decline. He wants you to know that he doesn’t want to put any pressure on you.”

Jeremiah turned to Bruce, searchingly, as if his friend would give him an answer. “I could go with you.” the latter offered, and Jeremiah looked away, his face flushing in shame. _Really? He’s already done so much for you, and you’re going to drag him into this too? Why can’t you do anything yourself? He doesn’t deserve to be forced to help you all the time, just because you can’t work up the courage to realize that Jerome is gone…and that the world is going to go on without him. Because it_ is _going to go on, and you can’t hide forever. Someday, you’re going to have to learn that. You can’t live like this for the rest of your life._

_You have to learn to work this out on your own._

He shook his head decidedly, almost desperately. “No.” He stared down at the table, feeling every muscle in his body tense and his hands begin to tremble, but he wasn’t going to back down. Not now. Not in front of Bruce, who was the _reason_ he was safe now, the reason he shouldn’t have to be afraid of anything. “I’ll meet him.” he said softly, resolutely, and looked slowly up to meet Bruce’s gaze, who looked surprised, but not displeased. 

“I’ll meet him, alone.”

_And it’s going to be all right._

_It has to be all right._

 

 

\+ + + + + + + + 

 

 

“Do you even know where Mr. Galavan lives?” Jeremiah asked Bruce nervously. His attention focused on the papers scattered haphazardly over the desk in front of him, Bruce didn’t even look up as he responded.

“I haven’t been to his house before. We’ve only ever met at restaurants, and when I go anywhere with Silver, we don’t go there either. It’s probably somewhere nice, though. He has a lot of money.”

“Do you think Silver will be with him tonight?” Jeremiah pressed. He didn’t like Silver any more than Selina did (although he did a significantly better job at hiding it) but at least she was around his own age, and _she_ wasn’t the one who had killed his brother in front of a group of hospital benefactors. It would be a welcome relief to have her there, if only to distract himself from the reality of who he was meeting with. 

“I don’t know.” Bruce said absently. “She might be. I haven’t heard from her in the past few days.”

“Why do you think…” Jeremiah began, trying to find the right words he was looking for, and casting an uncertain look at Bruce to ensure he wasn’t annoying his friend with his anxiety-riddled questions, “why do you think he really wants to meet?”

Bruce did look up at that. “Didn’t he say to Alfred it was because he wanted to talk about engineering?”

Jeremiah frowned faintly. “But do you think that’s the real reason?”

“Of course. Why else would he ask?”

“Because…” he trailed off, spreading his arms as if to say, _Isn’t it obvious?_ Bruce stood up, leaning forward emphatically.

“Miah, listen. What happened with Jerome is over. Yes, Galavan was…involved…obviously, but _you_ are not Jerome, and you aren’t responsible for what happened. He knows that. He has to know that. And no matter what, no matter what sort of fears or nightmares or uncertainty you may have about Jerome truly being gone, that is’t going to change things, because he _is_ gone, and people are moving on.” He looked the redhead intently in the eye. “You have to move on with them.”

“Bruce, I—” 

“I know I can’t force you to believe anything I say, but I _want_ you to. Because it’d be good for you. And I promise, this is all over. You don’t have anything to be afraid of anymore, okay? I promise.”

“Okay.” he said quietly. They had had this conversation more times than Jeremiah could count, and every time he was marginally more convinced that it was true. But he couldn’t entirely erase the doubt that still lurked in the corners of his mind, doubt that had been built up over years of hiding and fear and planning for the inevitability of his brother finally finding him. Even with Jerome gone, he couldn’t put that doubt to rest, because it had been his entire existence for so long. 

Without it, he no longer had a purpose.

But he wanted to believe Bruce, and he wanted his friend to know he had faith in him. So he mustered a half-hearted smile, trying to look as if he was convinced, as he did every time. Bruce smiled back, returning to his work.

“Is Selina coming over later?” Jeremiah asked, trying to keep his mind off of the rising panic that wouldn’t leave, even after Bruce’s reassurances. The other shrugged.

“I don’t know. She hasn’t seemed very happy around here lately, and I don’t know why.”

Knowing full well that Selina was endlessly jealous of Silver taking up so much of Bruce’s time, and knowing with equal certainty that she would kill him if he even thought about breathing a word about it, Jeremiah didn’t respond. Bruce continued, “But if she does, that’d be nice. It feels like she’s been around less and less.”

“But you have Silver.” Jeremiah pointed out, not doing a very good job of hiding his own resentment at the fact. Bruce looked back up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if she’s such a great friend, you don’t really need Selina that much, do you? Or me.” he added, shutting his mouth instantly as he realized how bitter he sounded. He didn’t blame Bruce for liking Silver…Jeremiah knew he probably couldn’t ever blame Bruce for anything…but Silver herself, that was another matter. He had tried to like her, tried to forget the way she had looked at him so scrutinizingly when they had first met, like he was some sort of scientific specimen, tried to appreciate how happy she made Bruce, but he never could. Not all the way, at least. 

He knew that those feelings had been partly spurred on by Selina, but more than anything, they came from his deeply rooted fear of losing his first real friend to a stranger. Losing Bruce would be like losing a part of himself…even if they had only known each other for the span of a few short months, Jeremiah considered the other boy to be the best friend he’d ever had, and to think of Silver stealing him away was unbearable. 

“I wouldn’t forget about you or Selina.” Bruce said with conviction, looking more than a little confused at Jeremiah’s sudden hostility toward the mention of Silver. “You know that, Miah.”

_I wish I did._

He knew Bruce would never _intentionally_ leave them behind, but the fact that they could be left behind regardless was too horrible to think about. Selina and Bruce had become more of a family than he had ever had before…to be alone, after that sort of bond, scared him more than anything else. And if Silver had her way, he knew it could happen.

Not all at once, and not on purpose, for Bruce’s part, but it could happen.

But of course, he couldn’t say any of that. He didn’t even know how he _would_ say it, given the chance. So instead, he nodded in response to Bruce, staring out the window and chewing anxiously on his lip as a car appeared on the long driveway. His nervousness over meeting Galavan rose up again, stronger than ever, and he wished desperately that he had never accepted the man’s offer.

But it was too late to back out now.

He stood up, still watching out the window, and Bruce glanced at him. “Is he here?” he asked, and Jeremiah wished _he_ could sound that calm, as if meeting the stranger was the easiest thing in the world, and not one of the most terrifying experiences he’d ever faced. 

“Yes.”

“Oh, well, say hi to him for me. And to Silver, if you see her.” 

“Okay.” 

Bruce smiled encouragingly. “It’s going to be okay, Miah. Really. Don’t stress about it.”

Jeremiah forced a smile back, letting himself, for one moment at least, believe his friend’s words. And Bruce knew this man…he’d met him, and he trusted him, and that had to mean something, right? He drew a deep breath.

_It’s going to be okay._

Because that was what Bruce had said, and Bruce never lied to him.

 

\+ + + + + +

 

The engine of the black Mercedes rumbled softly, filling in the silence between Theo Galavan’s words. Jeremiah listened quietly, his nerves taut to the point of breaking as he tried to hide the stress that constantly played across his face. He kept telling himself he had nothing to worry about, no reason to be scared of anything. Galavan had been nothing but civil since the moment he’d first laid eyes on him, and he hadn’t even seemed to acknowledge his striking similarity to Jerome. Jeremiah had been grateful for that, but it was impossible to ignore the unspoken knowledge between them: he was still the brother of a criminal who had terrorized and killed so many people, a psychopath whose face and name were synonymous to the chaos that had wracked Gotham for the weeks leading up to his death.

Nothing could change that.

Galavan had been speaking about how much he loved the city, despite his short amount of time since moving to Gotham, and how glad he was that the television interviews he had been asked to participate in had died down during the recent weeks. Jeremiah had barely spoken a word, and he didn’t mind that, but eventually Galavan paused, looking at him appraisingly, and the boy knew what was coming. 

There was no avoiding this.

“I suppose we should address what we’re both thinking, shouldn’t we?” Galavan began, and Jeremiah watched him wordlessly, waiting for the man to continue. Straightening his collar, he added, “The situation at the charity ball. Silver told me you were there.”

Jeremiah frowned, confused. He didn’t remember saying anything about the charity ball around Silver, especially since she had seemed to know nothing about Jerome. In fact, the only person he’d willingly spoken to about the incident was Bruce…Detective Gordon had asked him questions about it, of course, but Bruce was the only one Jeremiah _really_ said anything to about that night. 

But how else would Silver have known? Maybe he had alluded to something once accidentally and she’d picked up on it, drawing her own conclusions. Whatever it had been, it had been unintentional on his part, he was sure. But he must have said it, if Silver had heard it.

“I must confess that it has been partly due to cowardice that I have been avoiding meeting you,” Galavan continued, and Jeremiah cringed, waiting for him to ask if he, too, was an insane lunatic intent on destroying the city. But the man said nothing of the kind, to his infinite surprise. “Simply because I didn’t know what I would say when I saw you face to face. This has all been a very strange situation, of course, and to meet a relative of the same individual I…well, you know what happened. And I wasn’t sure how to approach it. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Jeremiah began to relax a little. At least Galavan wasn’t comparing him to his brother. In fact, it was almost the opposite. He was assuming Jeremiah was nothing like his twin, and that was something he had never experienced from anyone, apart from Bruce, of course. “So you know I…I wasn’t a part of any of it?” he asked softly, twisting his hands together. Galavan nodded vigorously. 

“The thought never even crossed my mind. But like I said, this hasn’t exactly been an easy situation. I had no gauge on how you felt about…Jerome…and so I continued to put this meeting off. But since Silver knows Bruce Wayne, and you of course, I had to arrange it eventually. And I want you to know that I am sincerely sorry for the sacrifice that had to be made to save all those people. If I had any alternative to killing him, I would have.”

“I thought maybe…that you would think I was working with him.” Jeremiah admitted, staring at the driver’s seat in front of him. “But I didn’t even know he was in Gotham until the…until the assault on the police station.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” Galavan said sincerely. “I never once believed you were in any way involved with your brother. I hadn’t met you, of course, but Silver had, and she is a good judge of character. And of course, you’re friends with Bruce Wayne.”

“Yes.” Jeremiah smiled slightly. 

“You’re even staying at the manor for a few more months, I hear?”

Jeremiah paused. He certainly hadn’t told Silver _that_ much. In fact, he wasn’t sure she even knew why he was at the manor. He tossed a confused glance at Galavan. _How does he know about all this?_ But it wouldn’t be polite to ask…maybe Bruce had said something about it.

“Yes, that’s…that’s right.”

“So I take it that you don’t have any family in the area.” Galavan looked at him interestedly, and Jeremiah shook his head.

“I don't have any family. My mother…well, Jerome, he…”

“Yes, I heard about that.” the man said sympathetically. “And she was all you had left?” Jeremiah nodded mutely. “I’m very sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” He was beginning to wonder why this had become the topic of their conversation, but he couldn’t exactly change the subject…not when he was trying to make a good impression.

“But I’m sure Bruce is a wonderful friend. I’ve only met him a handful of times, but he seems like a very kind young man.”

Jeremiah nodded, his expression immediately becoming more animated and less guarded. “He’s my best friend.” he said shyly, as if proud of the fact. _More like a brother than I’ve ever had before._

Galavan nodded thoughtfully, and the car turned down a side road, slowing as it passed by a towering apartment building that loomed in the late afternoon light. “How fortunate for both of you.” he said distantly, and Jeremiah noticed the car coming to a stop. There was a parking garage to one side of them, two doorways on the other. One was boarded up, reading “Storage: Keep Out” and the other was a back entrance to the apartment building. Jeremiah looked out the window.

“Is this where you live?” he asked curiously, his fear almost forgotten. Galavan nodded, reaching into his sleeve.

“Yes. I’ve only recently moved in, but it already feels like home. Really, it’s a lovely place.” The driver of the car pulled the key out of the ignition, and the engine shut off abruptly. Jeremiah looked around, realizing that they had stopped in an empty alleyway, devoid of any passers-by or parked cars. 

“Do you—” He broke off as something pricked the side of his neck, and his hand shot up to brush against the cold plastic and metal of the syringe Galavan had been holding in his hand. His eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat as panic rushed through him. “What are you…”

“Shh, don’t worry.” Galavan said soothingly, motioning for the driver to get out of the car. She flipped her long black hair out of her face and stepped out, adjusting the ever-present knife in her belt beneath the leather jacket she wore. “Thank you, Tabby.” he said as she passed him the car keys and shut the driver’s door, then turned back to Jeremiah, who was fighting to keep his eyes open. He stared at Galavan in mute horror, trying to speak but the words not coming out. The man shrugged. “I don’t _want_ to do this, of course, and it’s unfortunate that you must be caught up in all of this. I’m sure you could have done better in life, given the chance. But,” his face swam in Jeremiah’s faltering gaze as everything around him began to fade into oblivion, “as you saw for yourself at the charity ball, we all must make sacrifices to get what we want.” He smiled warmly, and the expression was infinitely more frightening than a look of hostility. His words echoed in Jeremiah’s mind as his thoughts began to blur into darkness.

“But do understand, this really is nothing personal.”


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

 

There was a voice speaking to him, but it sounded distant and distorted, like a voice over a radio whose transmission had been broken, fading in and out with words echoing incoherently through his mind. His body felt impossibly heavy, like it was being slowly crushed beneath a giant weight, and he gasped for air, his eyes shot open in panic. The voice broke through the haze that had filled his senses, and he blinked quickly, the world falling in and out of focus around him.

“Well, that wore off quicker than I expected.”

Jeremiah tried to catch his breath, feeling his pulse pounding in his head from the momentary wave of terror when he’d felt like the world was falling in on him. Everything was spinning, but his line of vision slowly picked up Theo Galavan, who was sitting casually at a carved desk, his fingers steepled and his elbows propped up on the polished desktop. 

“Feeling all right?” Galavan continued conversationally, standing up and rounding the corner of the desk to come closer. Jeremiah's heart was racing, and he tried to remember what had happened…his mind was blank, empty, and although he recognized the man in front of him, he couldn’t tell where he was or why he was there. His head was aching, and everything felt numb, like he had just woken up from a deep sleep but his body hadn’t. 

“I apologize for the excessiveness of drugging you.” Galavan said calmly, running a hand along the edge of the desk. “But I couldn’t take the risk of you bolting and escaping us. I’ve planned this all so carefully, and it would have been a shame if Tabby had to put a bullet in your brain after all the effort it’s taken to bring you here.”

Memories were slowly working their way into place, and he remembered the last moments of consciousness in the back seat of the car, the sting of the needle and Galavan’s smiling face as everything had disappeared into blackness. Renewed panic shot through him and Jeremiah staggered to his feet, only to collapse back onto the floor in a heap. Galavan surveyed him serenely. 

“I forgot to mention it may take a little while for the effects to wear off. But it doesn’t matter anyway, because the door is locked from the outside, there is no fire escape outside the windows, we are several stories up from the ground, and the walls are soundproofed. This,” he tapped the phone that sat on the desk, “is the only phone in the apartment, and it’s disconnected whenever I’m not using it. So trying to escape would have proven futile for you, really.”

Jeremiah stared at him, his eyes still refusing to cooperate and focus on the man. “What…” he began, his voice hoarse and unsteady. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What are you…”

“I think it’s pretty obvious. But maybe you need a little help understanding until those drugs work their way out of your brain.” He bent down until he was eye level with Jeremiah, hands resting on his knees. “You happen to be one of the most important aspects to my goal for Gotham City, surprising as that may seem. I know I’ve never met you before today, so you may be wondering, how do you fit into the picture? What, or who, could you possibly be connected to that is so valuable to what I am trying to achieve that I went out of my way to bring you here? What sort of powerful person could be standing in the way of everything I am working toward?” He smiled, raising one eyebrow questioningly. “Any idea about who that may be, Jeremiah?”

He stared back, trying to process what the man was saying to him. _Connected to powerful people?_

_Powerful people…_

He didn’t know anyone who fit that description. He barely knew _anyone_ in Gotham. There had to be some sort of misunderstanding…he wasn’t powerful, and he didn’t know anyone who was. The only person he’d ever met before who had any sort of real power was…

_Thomas Wayne?_

But no, he was dead. It didn’t make sense. Galavan couldn’t have dealings with a dead man, and anyway, Jeremiah hadn’t been that close to Thomas in the first place…only worked on the Wayne Plaza project…

His eyes widened as the implication of Galavan’s words slowly pieced themselves together. _Oh, no. No no no…_

“Figured it out yet?” 

He shook his head, as if that could deny the truth. But he knew it now, they both knew it, and there was no use pretending to be ignorant. 

“Bruce?” he whispered, his voice cracking. Galavan straightened up, striding across the room to the armchair in the corner. 

“Bravo, you’ve done it.” he said drily. “Yes, Bruce Wayne is what this all comes down to. After all, he’s the figurehead of Gotham, whether he or anyone else realizes that. Wayne Enterprises, Wayne Industries, every charity and organization they funded…the Waynes are what make this city what it is. They’ve always been front and center, ruling over everything like kings.” There was a venom in his voice as he spat out the last words. “But it doesn’t have to be that way anymore. In fact, if things go according to plan, soon enough, any remembrance of the Wayne family will be dashed from existence and the world will never remember their name.”

Jeremiah pushed his glasses back up on his face from where they had slipped down, his hand trembling. He could feel the life coming back into his body, but he still felt drained and lightheaded. It was difficult to concentrate on what Galavan was saying, but he caught the final words, and cold fear flooded through him.

“What are you going to do?” His voice still couldn’t rise above a whisper, and he gritted his teeth in helplessness. _How could you do this? You should have known something would go wrong…you should never have agreed to this. And now…Bruce could be in danger because of you._ He still didn’t know how, but it was reason enough to blame himself. He blinked back tears of frustration, berating himself for trusting a man who he’d never even met before, trusting him only because Bruce had trusted him, because Bruce had never been wrong before now.

“I don’t think you need all the details of my plan, Jeremiah.” Galavan said condescendingly. “Suffice it to say that _you_ will be the reason for my success, which should give you at least a little satisfaction. Without you, none of this would be able to go off so smoothly, which makes you quite the star of the show.” He smiled again. “Which, if you are anything like your brother, you should appreciate.”

Jeremiah's shoulders stiffened. “I’m _nothing_ like Jerome.” he said with sudden conviction, his fear momentarily forgotten. “And I’ll never be like him, not in a million years.”

“Well,” Galavan replied, an amused expression on his face, “why don’t you tell him that yourself?”

Jeremiah looked at him with growing confusion, trying to ignore the sudden shiver that ran up his spine. “He’s…he’s dead. You killed him yourself.”

“Oh, it did look like that, didn’t it?” He nodded genially, almost proudly. “It’s incredible how people see what they want to, especially when they’re in danger. Even more incredible when the crowd is just chaotic enough for a dead body to slip away of its own accord.”

He stared, uncomprehending, at Galavan. “But he’s _dead._ ” he repeated dully, hanging on to that final shred of belief he had forced himself to accept. Because Bruce had told him Jerome was dead, and Bruce wouldn’t lie to him, he’d never lied to him, and Bruce knew that was what had really happened, hadn’t he? Jerome _was_ dead…he couldn’t be anything else.

“Sorry to put such a damper on your evening,” Galavan said, without a hint of remorse in his tone, “but I’m afraid you may soon be convinced otherwise.”

There was a sound of falling footsteps behind him, and Jeremiah froze, staring at the man in silent horror. The footsteps stopped, and he heard a rustle as someone crouched down behind him, so close that he could feel their breath on the back of his neck. 

_Please, please be a trick. It can’t be him, it can’t be, he’s dead._

_I saw him die…and Bruce…Bruce said…_

A laugh broke the silence, a laugh so horrifyingly familiar that Jeremiah suddenly felt like a little kid again, felt like he had that day on their birthday as he’d stared into identical brown eyes that glittered with a malicious light, the edge of the knife pressed against his throat, and he had been so sure he was going to die, so sure that he was about to be left to choke to death on his own blood on the kitchen floor, just like…

Just like Jerome had on that night of the charity ball.

Just like that, because Jerome _was_ dead, he had to be dead, there was no other way…

But it was _his_ laugh. 

No matter what he tried to tell himself in those few suspended seconds in time between Galavan’s words, he was sure of the truth.

The terrible truth that he knew, if he turned around, would be smiling at him with the exact same face as his own, the face that had been on every newspaper and every crime report and every news station for the past month. 

_Why aren’t you dead?_

Slowly, every muscle in his body rebelling against him, Jeremiah turned around, his breath catching in the back of his throat as terror gripped at him with cold, sharp claws. His voice was gone again, swallowed up in mute horror, and he could only stare with wide, unbelieving eyes at the boy behind him, who was grinning widely at him like a predator closing in on it’s long-hunted prey.

“Jerome.” The word was a mere breath, and the other redhead sat down beside him, slinging an arm over his shoulders in a friendly way. Jeremiah tried to struggle out of his grip, but it was too strong, and his twin leaned over to look him straight in the face, another laugh tinging the edges of his words as he spoke.

“I’ve missed ya, kiddo.”

 

\+ + + + + + + +

 

Selina crossed her arms and frowned, tossing her hair out of her face in an impatient, petulant movement. Bruce and Silver, who were poring over the pages of some book they’d found, didn’t notice. Slumping down in the corner of the couch among the throw pillows, Selina glared at them fiercely, wondering why she didn’t just get up and leave. 

She’d passed by the manor earlier and, after dropping into the kitchen for a bite to eat, had heard via Alfred that Silver wasn’t coming by that day. Overjoyed at the prospect, Selina had promptly raced through the house to find Bruce, almost toppling several family heirlooms in the process, only to discover he had gone to the library and wouldn’t be back for another half hour. Willing to wait if it meant having Bruce around without Silver tagging along, Selina had asked where Jeremiah was, and when Alfred had told her he was with Theo Galavan for dinner, she had almost laughed aloud in excitement. It wasn’t that she didn’t like having Jeremiah around; the two of them were good friends. But to have Bruce for an entire afternoon just like it had been the past year was a treat in and of itself, and Selina had waited eagerly for him to arrive back home.

So when he had come in the door with Silver in tow, claiming she, too, had been at the library, Selina had come close to setting something on fire out of frustration. 

Unfortunately, she didn’t have a lighter on hand, and if anyone’s house deserved to be burned down, it was Silver’s.

But she couldn’t say that, not when Bruce was around, so she had retreated to the corner of the couch and watched in stony silence as the two had shared the wing chair and looked at some dumb encyclopedia Bruce had lugged home from the library, thinking every possible insulting thing she could about Silver and feeling very sorry for herself.

Eventually, Bruce looked up, closing the cover of the book. “I should ask Alfred about dinner.” he said, glancing at Silver. “Would you like to join us, by the way? Jeremiah’s with your uncle right now, having dinner at your place, but if you want…”

“That would be nice.” she smiled at him, and Selina thought there was something even more fake than usual about that smile, as if she was forcing it onto her face. Bruce smiled back, obviously not noticing anything out of the ordinary, and left the study. Silver glanced over at Selina, then smoothed out the skirt of her dress carefully. 

“I hope we’re not boring you by sitting around reading.” she laughed lightly, and Selina rolled her eyes.

“Oh no, I love watching people read books for hours on end. It’s one of my favorite hobbies.”

Silver raised one eyebrow. “Well, no one’s forcing you to lurk around here all day. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“Oh, there are better things in the world than you? I wasn’t aware.”

“You don’t need to get nasty about it. At least Bruce invited me to come here.” She looked pointedly at Selina, who flushed in anger.

“I don’t need an invitation, since I’m Bruce’s _good_ friend.” she shot back.

“I’m sure he doesn’t mind that a bit.” Silver’s tone implied quite a bit of incredulity, and Selina scrambled to her feet, eyes flashing.

“I’ve been Bruce’s friend almost ever since his parents died. We’ve gone through a _lot_ together. You’ll never know him like I know him, so don’t even try.”

“I didn’t realize it was a competition.” Silver said innocently, but there was a malevolent edge to her expression that didn’t bypass Selina’s attention.

“I just don’t want to see you manipulating him anymore!” she retorted before she could help herself. Silver frowned.

“I’m not manipulating him.”

“Oh, don’t think I didn’t notice. I’ve been watching you, and there’s something about you that’s just too good to be true.” Selina watched the other girl with narrowed eyes and Silver stared back, a hurt expression on her face. “You’re _too_ perfect, so perfect that you aren’t. I can see through you, and I know it’s all an act.”

“An _act?”_ she echoed, the hurt turning into a glare that matched Selina’s. “You’re just jealous that Bruce doesn’t care about you anymore.”

Selina froze, her eyes widening at that. It was the one thing that had been haunting her for the past month, the worry that had constantly whispered in the back of her mind that Bruce, the friend she would never admit her deeply hidden feelings for, might be tired of her. Might even push her aside for the new girl, who was currently looking at Selina with none of her former friendliness.

“And guess what?” she continued mercilessly. “I don’t blame him. You’re just street trash, anyway. Why would a billionaire really want to have anything to do with you?”

“He’s not just a billionaire.” Selina muttered. “He’s a person, too. He’s allowed to have friends.”

“But really, Selina, you think someone like Bruce Wayne would honestly want to be associated with you? I mean, you’re not exactly his type.”

“You don’t even know what his type is!” she almost shouted back. “And that isn’t what this is about! This is about you trying to get something out of him, it’s about whoever you are, hiding behind that perfect little mask of yours. Bruce might not see it, but _I_ do, and I won’t let you do that to him anymore!”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Silver’s voice was calm but deadly. “If anyone’s manipulating Bruce, it’s you. You’re the one feeding off of his wealth like a parasite, exploiting your so-called friendship for a roof over your head and the occasional meal, and Bruce doesn’t even realize it. I’m not taking advantage of him, I’m only trying to be a good friend. One who doesn’t take things from him because I haven’t any of my own.”

Selina stepped back, helpless anger surging through her. “I’m not.” she muttered, not knowing what else to say. “I wouldn’t care if Bruce never offered me anything else again. And for _your_ information, I’ve never accepted any of the things he’s tried to give me. I have enough self-respect to not do that.”

“I’m sure.” Silver said cooly. 

“You’re trying to hide the fact that you’re the one who’s trying to get something from him! I know you are, I can tell, whatever you do, it’s not because you want Bruce to be your friend. I know the difference between a friend and a liar, and I know which one _you_ are.”

Silver was staring past her, and her eyes suddenly became pained again as she looked away piteously. Selina pressed on, “And that’s what you do. You hide behind that fake version of yourself, the one that’s always nice and always sweet and perfect and wonderful, but you can’t hide it from me. I know you’re going to stab him in the back one day, I don’t know what for, but you can’t fool me."

“Selina!” Bruce’s voice cut through her rant, and Selina spun around, locking eyes with him as he stood in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, Bruce.” Silver’s voice caught on a sob, and Selina threw a disgusted look at her.

“She’s manipulating you, Bruce.” she said desperately, clenching her hands into fists. “I know she is.” 

Bruce stared at her, and Silver cut in, “You know I would never do that. I don’t even have any reason to manipulate you. She’s jealous because you’re spending time with me, and she’s been accusing me of horrible things.”

“Shut up.” Selina hissed at her. “You weren’t acting so sweet a moment ago, were you?”

“Selina.” Bruce repeated, and as she looked back at him, she noticed an expression on his face that she had never seen there before.

Disappointment.

“Bruce, she’s…”

“Don’t.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“But you don’t understand! I know! I know she’s…”

“Just go, Selina.” he said quietly, looking steadily at her with that terrible disappointment shining in his eyes. “I don’t want you ruining this anymore.”

She stared at him, unbelieving. “But…”

“No. Please just go.”

Avoiding Silver’s tear-filled gaze, Selina backed away toward the window, keeping her eyes fixed on Bruce. “You’ll be sorry.” she told him, pushing the curtain aside. “You’ll learn I was telling the truth, and you’ll be sorry.”

“Selina…”

“I know, I’m going.” Her eyes narrowed and she pulled up the hood on her jacket before stepping out onto the balcony. The wind whipped around her, pushing her hair into her face. She brushed it away with the back of her hand. “I’m going, and I’m not coming back.”

Without another word, she disappeared off the corner of the balcony into the growing darkness below, leaving Silver and Bruce standing alone in the study. They looked uneasily at each other, searching for something to say. Tears stood out in Silver’s eyes, and she reached up to brush them away. 

Just as the silence began to grow heavier, Alfred entered the room, gesturing over his shoulder. “It’s a call for you, Master Bruce.” he said, glancing between the two of them as if sensing the tension. “From Mr. Galavan. He says it’s urgent.”

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

Theo Galavan leaned back in the desk swivel chair, an amused smile creeping across his features as he watched the two redheads in front of him, one grinning, the other terrified. “Isn’t it touching to see reunited family?” he asked Tabitha, who stood behind him. Jerome, who had perched on the couch in the center of the penthouse living room, nodded enthusiastically.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.” he said when Tabitha was silent. “Well, except for that time we were throwing those guys off the roof. That was pretty fun. But this is near the top of the list. Whaddya say, broski?” He patted Jeremiah on the shoulder, who flinched away from him wordlessly, his petrified stare fixed on the ground. “Hmm, that’s what I thought. But don’t worry, we’re gonna have a great time together. You have no idea how excited I am!”

Galavan cleared his throat. “But remember what I said.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. No killing.” Jerome waved a hand dismissively. “Yet.” Jeremiah shuddered. “Don’t worry, I won’t ruin your big plan.”

“Much appreciated.” the man said humorlessly. “Now, I think it’s about time I made that call to Bruce Wayne, don’t you think?”

Jeremiah did look up at that, the movement so slight it was barely noticeable, and Jerome leaned in close to him. “Ooh, Brucie Wayne. Heard you’re his little boy toy, right?” His brother didn’t respond, and Jerome scoffed. “I know you ain’t much of a conversationalist, but this is too much. Lighten up a little, won’t you?” He ruffled Jeremiah’s hair, and the latter drew his shoulders up defensively, still avoiding his gaze as if that would stave off the reality that his twin was really alive and really there.

“Jerome, I’d appreciate it if you could continue this little chat in another room.” Galavan cut in, reaching for the phone that sat on the corner of his desk. “I need to let Bruce know your brother here just left dinner with me and I saw him forced into a car with some strange men.”

“Tried to stop them, didn’t ya?” Jerome wiggled his eyebrows conspiratorially.

“But sadly, they got away.” Galavan played along. “One of them, however, saw me watching and told me to call Bruce Wayne and let him know that his friend has been kidnapped, and that they will be calling with more information tomorrow. And I can’t forget to mention that if he says a word to the police, they will know and that will be it for poor Jeremiah. I wish I could have stopped them,” he shook his head regretfully, “but there wasn’t any time.”

Jerome laughed, high-pitched and grating. “Now we’ll see if Brucie boy really cares about you, brotato chip, or if he’s gonna leave you in the dust.” His grin turned more deadly, and he stuck his face in Jeremiah’s line of vision, forcing his brother to meet his eyes. “Sounds a little familiar, doesn’t it?”

Galavan waved him away. “Get out. I don’t have time for you to sit around making speeches. If that’s how you want to spend your time, do it somewhere else.”

Jerome grabbed his twin’s hand, pulling him up off the couch. Jeremiah stumbled against him, the effects of the drug still wearing off, then backed away, wrapping his arms around his chest protectively. Jerome dragged him through the doorway to the bedroom Galavan had assigned him when he had first arrived with the Maniax, giving the man and Tabitha a cheerful wave before slamming the door behind him. 

Jeremiah backed away from him, still staring wordlessly, his eyes huge with terror. Jerome lounged against the door, crossing his ankles, and looked his brother up and down.

“Wow, you look like a nerd. I mean, you _are_ a nerd, but really? A sweater like that? And those glasses?” He gave a mock shudder. “Who’d have thought I could be higher on the fashion scale than you?” 

“How are you alive?” Jeremiah whispered, practically forcing the words out. His voice shook, and Jerome chuckled, bounding across the room onto the bed, where he landed flat on his back. 

“What a show, amiright? We fooled everyone in that room, that’s for sure. And the cops, too.”

“I saw you die.” Jeremiah said helplessly, blinking tears from his eyes with desperation. _You’re not going to cry. Not in front of him. You can’t._ It was the only thought his mind could form in its turbulent state, but it was better than nothing. Jerome shrugged.

“Funny thing about switchblades, if you get the right kind, you can arrange them so they collapse when you stick ‘em in someone’s neck. Still stabs a little,” he gestured to his own neck, where Jeremiah could see a stitched scar, “but not enough to kill a guy. Just enough blood to make it look real, and just enough energy to sneak away afterward.” He grinned at his brother, who shivered.

_He was never really dead. I knew it. I could feel it. He never died, he was here all along, and nothing was ever safe._

“So, about Bruce Wayne.” Jerome continued, sitting up on the bed and looking at his twin with interest. Jeremiah looked away, wishing he had the courage to run to the door and try to escape. But Galavan had said there was no way out, and his fear of Jerome kept him rooted to the spot. “Obviously we didn’t get to know each other very well, since I was, y’know, threatening to kill him. What’s he like? I betcha it’s nice living in that fancy mansion of his, right?”

Jeremiah drew a shuddering breath, trying to not let any of his emotions betray him, although his face was like a window into his mind at the moment, fear and shock and confusion alternating across it every second. _Don’t say anything. Maybe this is a nightmare. Maybe it’s all a dream, and you’re going to wake up in a moment and everything will be fine and he’ll still be dead and…_

“Miah!” Jerome was up in his face now, standing eye-to-eye with his twin. “I asked you a question.”

“Wh-what?” he stammered, panic rushing over him again.

“Bruce Wayne. What’s he like?”

Jeremiah shut his mouth tightly. He wasn’t going to say a word about his friend, no matter how afraid he was. He couldn’t put Bruce in danger, and there was no telling what sort of things Jerome would say to Galavan if he gave even the tiniest of details. But Jerome wasn’t going to take silence for an answer.

“Do you think he’ll come and save you?”

“He…he doesn’t know…that I’m here.” 

“Weren’t you listening to Galavan? He’s gonna know soon enough. And if he wants you back, he’s gotta do what the guy wants. He doesn’t know it’s him, though, which is half the fun.” He giggled. “Can’t let Brucie know in case he freaks out and goes to the cops, and then what would happen? No company, no dead billionaire brat, no more love for Galavan from his adoring fans.”

Jeremiah felt his breath stop in his lungs. “He’s going…going to kill Bruce?” Part of him couldn’t comprehend what was happening, and even in the midst of his panic, the one thing that stood steady was his concern for his friend. Jerome grinned.

“Spicy, isn’t it? Like a soap opera, but more blood. I dunno what he wants the kid dead for, but there ya have it. After he sells Galavan the company and hands everything over, he’s out of the picture. That’s what you’re here for, ya know. Figured Bruce would want to save you, after what Silver told him.” He nodded at the door, and Jeremiah froze.

“Silver?” he echoed, his mind going blank again.

“Yeah. Galavan’s little snitch. She’s the one who found out about you for him. _I_ knew about you first, of course, from seeing you at the party, but I didn't tell him. Wanted you all to myself.”

Jeremiah’s thoughts were racing, trying to take shape. Everything he had said to Silver…about having no family, no connections to anyone but Bruce…it had all been for this. He felt like his heart was going to stop…Bruce had trusted her so deeply, and the whole time she had been tricking them all.

_He still trusts her,_ he realized in growing horror. _And I can’t tell him. I can’t tell him what she’s doing._

“But,” Jerome was saying, running a hand through his hair, “that doesn’t mean I don’t get any fun. In fact, Galavan said once he’s finished with you, I can do what I want. And besides, with what he’s got planned, I can still do what I want, just as long as you stay alive.” He leaned even closer, his eyes glittering as he stared at his brother with an expression of pure insanity. “It’s gonna be so much fun.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are liking it so far!
> 
> btw I edited the tags to fit this fic better since when I started it I wasn't sure which ones I'd put, so yeah.
> 
> thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, there's gonna be some violence and stuff in these upcoming chapters, just a fair warning in case that's ain't your jam.

**Chapter Fifteen**

 

Alfred followed Bruce as he paced restlessly across the floor of the study, running a hand distractedly through his hair. “Master Bruce, you need to collect yourself and think about this rationally. There’s no other way you can do anything about this.”

Bruce wheeled around sharply to face the butler, his eyes desperate and helpless. “I _am_ thinking about it rationally. I just…” he resumed pacing, shoving his hands into his pockets and shaking his head, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how this happened, Alfred. I should have…”

“There’s nothing _you_ could have done, Master Bruce.” Alfred said with conviction, trying to hide his own worry. “You had no idea that any of this could have happened.”

“But I should have been more careful. I shouldn’t have let him go anywhere alone…after everything that happened with Jerome, someone must have seen him and thought the two were the same person, and who knows what they’ve done to him.”

“If they said they’d contact you later on,” Alfred tried to sound reasonable, “then he must be all right for now. They’ll likely ask for money, or something of the sort, but if they’re holding him hostage for that, then they won’t…” He trailed off, not wanting to worry Bruce more. _They won’t kill him, at least._

“But I don’t even know who they are!” Bruce’s voice rose with frustration. “Mr. Galavan said he didn’t know who they were, or where they were going.”

“Yes, he seemed to have done very little in the situation.” Alfred said contemptuously, and Bruce glanced up.

“There wasn’t anything he could have done. Calling me right away was the only way he could help, Alfred. And I’m grateful he did that, even though I wish he didn’t have to.”

“Well, we’re rather stuck between a rock and a hard place, aren’t we?” the butler responded, clasping his hands behind his back. “Who knows who these people are, and how closely they’re watching you…if you tried to call the police, things could end very badly.”

“But what can we do, Alfred? We can’t just sit around and wait for them to call! We have to figure out where they’ve gone and what they want.”

“Bruce, I know you’re concerned about Jeremiah. Believe me, I am too. But I will not allow you to place yourself in danger to find him. What good would that do? And besides, that could be exactly what these people want you to do. You cannot lose your head, no matter how bleak this situation may appear to be.”

“I shouldn’t have let him go.” Bruce repeated, running a hand down the side of his face. “Not so soon after the charity ball. And he didn’t even want to go…he knew something would go wrong, but he didn’t say no, because I told him it would be okay…” A tortured expression crossed his face. “I kept saying how nothing bad would happen, how he would be all right, that there was nothing he needed to be scared of anymore. And that was all a lie.”

“It wasn’t a lie, Master Bruce.” Alfred said quickly. “You didn’t know what would happen.”

“But I should have.” he insisted. “And now he’s in danger, and it’s because of me.”

“Not necessarily, it might not be…”

“It _is._ Whoever they are, they know I have enough leverage in this city to get them what they want. That has to be what this is about. Jeremiah never would have been involved if it wasn’t for me.”

“But there’s nothing you can do about it now. You can’t simply look back and wish things had been different. It won’t change the fact of the matter, which is that you need to wait for these people to contact you and listen to what they’re requesting for ransom, and then proceed from there. There is nothing else to do until then.”

“I can’t just wait around here, Alfred, for a call like that. Jeremiah must hate me now, after I told him everything would be all right, and look what’s happened…”

“He wouldn’t blame you, Master Bruce. He admires you more than anyone, and I doubt he’s currently holding any sort of grudge against anything you said. That’s not what you should be worried about.”

“Yeah, what I should be worried about is that my _friend_ is _missing!”_ Bruce continued pacing. “He needs my help, and I don’t know what to do.”

“I told you what you have to do.”

“But Alfred, that’s not enough. Do you realize how scared he must be right now? He might think we’re not even going to try and save him. And he’s in the hands of criminals, people who don’t care about him for any reason beside him being a hostage…don’t you know how terrible that must be? If we can’t call the police, then I have to do something.”

“I admire your willingness on the matter,” Alfred said, trying to be the voice of reason, “but you cannot rush headlong into something without a plan. That would be no help to anyone, and I can tell you with certainty that you wouldn’t be saving anyone like that. The most important thing right now is this: someone is targeting those close to you, most likely in exchange for something they know you can give them. That being said, Miss Silver and Miss Kyle must be extra cautious of their own safety.”

Bruce’s shoulders slumped as he remembered what had transpired between the three of them only hours before. After Selina had left and Bruce had taken the phone call from Galavan, he’d found that Silver had disappeared as well, most likely, he assumed, deeply troubled about the things Selina had said to her. He hadn’t given either of them much thought, having been so consumed in the bigger problem at hand, but Alfred’s words brought it all back.

Noticing the expression on Bruce’s face, the butler looked at him scrutinizingly. “Is something the matter?”

“Selina…” he began, trying to figure out what to say. “Earlier, when she was here…well, I found her talking to Silver, and accusing her of trying to manipulate me, and she wouldn’t stop saying it even after I told her to stop, and I just…” He broke off abruptly, turning away. Alfred raised an eyebrow.

“Manipulating you? Miss St. Cloud?”

Bruce nodded slowly, his mind suddenly traveling back to the conversation he’d had with Jeremiah earlier that day. It seemed so long ago…so much had happened in such a short span of time, and he could hardly believe it had taken place on the same day, mere hours ago. 

_“You have Silver. If she’s such a great friend, you don’t really need Selina that much, do you? Or me.”_

Bruce felt a sudden sharp pang of guilt. He had only been partly listening to Jeremiah earlier, and hadn’t caught the deeper meaning behind his words, but now he realized what his friend had really been saying.

That Silver was more important than the both of them. 

_Did they really think that?_

Bruce paused, trying to collect his thoughts. He _had_ been spending more time with Silver, but that was because Jeremiah and Selina had always seemed as if they were more interested in other things when he did, and left him alone. He'd never imagined they had thought they were losing importance in his eyes because of how he’d focused his attention on his new friend…it had never even occurred to him. But it explained Selina’s resentment toward Silver, and Jeremiah’s comment about being less important than her…suddenly, Bruce was seeing the situation through new eyes, and he turned to Alfred helplessly, who was still waiting for an answer.

“I need to talk to her.”

“Talk to who? Miss. St. Cloud?”

Bruce shook his head. “No. I mean, yes, I need to explain about earlier, and make sure she’s all right, but I meant I need to talk to Selina. I think I understand what she meant when she said…well, when she said what she did. And I might need her help.”

“Master Bruce, if this is about Jeremiah, do not do anything without thinking it over carefully first. You cannot go barreling headlong into a situation you do not yet fully understand, and I doubt Miss Kyle’s help will make much of a difference.”

“I just have to talk to her, Alfred. To…clear some things up. And to make sure she’ll watch out, too. But I won't do anything without asking you first. I don’t even know what I _would_ do."

“If you feel the need to find Miss Kyle, then by all means do so.” Alfred had never been the biggest advocate of Bruce being friends with Selina, but he had gradually began to warm up to her over time, and sensed the urgency in the boy’s tone. “But you shouldn’t be gone too long in case those men try to contact you. You have no idea when they might try to make ransom arrangements, and it’s best to be prepared constantly.”

“I know.” Bruce said reluctantly, part of him wanting nothing more than to wait for some sort of word on his missing friend, the other part whispering urgently that he had to find Selina and warn her to be more careful than ever. He wondered if she would even listen to him, after he had told her to leave. Maybe she wouldn’t want to speak to him. But he had to try…he couldn’t lose another friend, not now, not when the world seemed to be closing in on him and he wished with hopeless desperation that he could be anyone but a billionaire with influence over the city.

 

\+ + + + + + + 

 

“Memories, huh?” Jerome bounced up and down on the armchair in the corner of his room. “Ah, those good old days of being kids and watching the circus acts and killing songbirds. That was the life, wasn’t it, Miah?”

Jeremiah, huddled in the opposite corner of the room, stared wordlessly at the beams of late evening light falling on the floor through the window. It had only been an hour since he’d woken up in Galavan’s penthouse, but it felt like the longest of eternities, and he was still too terrified to even look at his brother, who was currently sharpening a knife with the casual air of someone doing the most mundane of tasks. 

“I mean, I guess you might not have appreciated it all for what it was, but still. I’m sure, deep down somewhere, you secretly thought it was the coolest thing ever. Even if I never did convince you to kill anything. But hey, what else could I expect from a stick-in-the-mud like you?” He raised an eyebrow, tossing the knife aside. It landed, tip first, in the floorboards, where it vibrated back and forth from the impact. Getting to his feet, Jerome joined his twin on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall and looking down at him.

“Jeez, lighten up, why don’t you? You’re not gonna get anything out of looking like someone’s about to cut your throat. And besides, no one's planning on killing you just yet. So you’ve got some time to enjoy yourself.” He laughed. “Course, that’s all a matter of perspective on what you think is funny or not.”

“What’re you going to do to me?” Jeremiah asked softly, hating the way his voice shook uncontrollably. It was bad enough being locked in the same room as his murderous brother he’d thought was dead, but the uncertainty of what was to come was worse. Jerome grinned.

“Oh, I haven’t really thought about it yet. I’ve waited for this chance for so long, now that it’s here I hardly know where to start. But don’t worry your little head, I’ll figure it out soon enough. Really, I can do whatever I want. We’re not plannin’ on giving you back to Brucie boy, so s’long as you’re still alive till Galavan’s done with you, then it’s a free-for-all.” He bounded across the room and opened the closet along the back wall. It was full of an assortment of weapons, packing boxes, and knives, similar to the one stuck in the floor. “Remember what I used to do to those mice we’d find around the trailer sometimes?” Jeremiah, his eyes fixed on the pile of weapons his brother was examining, didn’t answer. Jerome shrugged. “Well, come to think of it, they always ended up dead once I was done with them. Guess I’ll have to adjust my methods if we don’t want Galavan to get mad.”

“So you’re going to torture me?” Jeremiah met his twin’s gaze, forcing the terror out of his expression. He knew Jerome could see right through him, could sense even the slightest hint of fear if it were present, but he tried to hide it anyway. He couldn’t give him the satisfaction of that, not when he had nothing else on his side. Jerome picked up a chipped baseball bat and examined it thoughtfully.

“Nah, I wouldn’t call it torture. That’s for people who you’re trying to get somethin’ out of, like information or money and boring stuff like that. I’m just doing this cause I want to, and that’s all there is to it. No bargaining, no deals, no bribing for freedom. This is your endgame, just like you always knew it would be.” He walked toward Jeremiah slowly, dragging the bat on the floor behind him and kicking the knife out of the way. “Just like we both knew it would be.”

Jeremiah shivered, every instinct in his body telling him to get up and try to escape out the door, but he knew he couldn’t. It wouldn’t matter, because he was trapped in here; Galavan had said so, and there was no way out. This was a plan that had been thought through with utmost precision and caution, and he was caught in the middle of it. Fighting against the voices in his head that pleaded for him to try to get out, he kept his eyes fixed on Jerome, his heart pounding painfully in his chest as his brother came even closer. “Why aren’t you dead?” he whispered, the words escaping from him before he could stop himself, heavy with dread and helplessness. Jerome tilted his head.

“Being dead,” he replied, slinging the bat over his shoulder and staring appraisingly down at his twin with glittering eyes, “seems awfully boring. I’m not sure I’m ready for that type of commitment yet. Not until I’ve had enough fun to satisfy me for a long while.”

“Why are you doing this?” Jeremiah tried as a final, desperate resort. He knew, no matter what he said, it would make no difference…when his brother set his mind to something, he never changed it. No amount of pleading or begging or bribing could persuade him otherwise. But facing Jerome with that devilish grin stretched across his face was enough to make him try anything, however futile. “Is it because I left you behind at the circus? Because that wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t even my _idea,_ and you know it.”

Jerome laughed. “Please, Miah, you don’t need to pretend with _me._ I know you asked for them to send you away. And you knew what would happen after that. Two times the beatings, the work, everything. All specially for me. That was your plan, wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t _have_ a plan!” he said desperately. “I just wanted to get away from you before you killed me!”

“Yeah, sure, okay. Funny, though, how things come back to bite ya, huh? Who’d have thought that, after all that work to escape, you’d wind up here. May not seem like the greatest moment of your life, but trust me,” Jerome leaned forward, “it’s the greatest of mine.”

“That can’t be why you want to kill me.” Jeremiah persisted, trying any means possible to keep his brother talking…at least that could delay the inevitable for a little while longer. “The reason I left was because you wanted me dead. So that can’t be why.”

“Oh, yeah, you abandoning me is just a teensy part of it.” Jerome nodded agreeably. “I’ve always wanted to kill you ever since you started upstaging me. Being better at everything, and letting everyone know it. You read books, learned things, made everyone think you were such a little genius, all because you wanted to be better than me.”

“I didn’t—"

“Don’t give me that. I know you did. And I could never get ahead.” There was a sudden darkness in Jerome’s eyes, a dangerous edge to his tone. Jeremiah flinched. “You were always the better one, the one everyone loved. No one cared about me.”

“That's not my fault.”

“I don’t care.” Jerome laughed bitterly, something other than humor shining in his eyes for once. “You’re the only one left to blame, anyway. I’ve killed everyone else.”

“So you’re going to kill me because you didn’t feel important enough.” 

He paused, thinking it over. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“It still wasn’t my fault.” Jeremiah insisted.

“And,” he smiled, rocking back and forth on his feet, “I’m still gonna kill you.”

Jeremiah looked at his twin despairingly, seeing the wild edge of insanity in his eyes. There was nothing more he could say to convince Jerome to keep him alive, or at least let him off easy. His brother had been waiting for this moment for years, his resentment growing stronger, more unbreakable. And knowing Jerome’s sadistic personality, he wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity like this, not for anything in the world. Jeremiah felt like one of the creatures his brother used to torment when they’d lived in the circus, knowing with a hopeless finality that he couldn’t get away, he couldn't escape whatever sort of pain was in store for him, because there was no bargaining with Jerome, there was only endurance of his maniacal games. 

If they could be endured.

_He can’t kill me yet,_ was the only comfort he could offer himself, panic clouding his thoughts again despite his every effort to control it. _Not yet, and maybe Bruce will find me. And Jerome won't have a chance to kill me, and everything can go back to how it was before._

He didn't believe it, but it was the only thing he could tell himself, because even if it was a lie, it was better than what he knew was the truth.

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

Bruce climbed the precariously rotting wooden staircase to the abandoned apartment Selina had been living in for the past month, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't result in him being instantly kicked out and possibly punched in the face. He knew Selina was probably fuming and, he told himself reluctantly, she did have good reason. 

Even if she had said those things about Silver, at least now he understood.

He pushed open the door that barely hung onto its rusting hinges, and they creaked loudly in the silence as he entered, looking around cautiously. The room was dark, the last light of the day creeping through the grimy window, and everything was shrouded in shadow. But he caught the figure that stirred in the corner, and straightened up nervously.

“Uh, Selina, I was just…” She stepped closer, crossing her arms belligerently, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. 

“What are you doing here, Bruce?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk to _you.”_

He sighed, his hand still resting on the door handle. “Selina, this is important. Please, listen to me.”

“I don’t see why I should, since _you_ apparently don’t want to listen to _me.”_

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier, I shouldn’t have done that, and I wish I hadn’t. But Selina, I really need you to pay attention. You could be in danger.”

She scoffed at him, retreating back into the corner. “That was the most half-assed apology I’ve ever heard in my life. I’m not buying it, Bruce, and anyway, I said I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“I know you don’t, but you have to. I-"

“ _Nobody_ tells me what I have to do.” she retorted sharply, her eyes darkening. “Especially not you. So why don’t you get out of here and go hang out with your little girlfriend. I’m sure that’s what you’d rather be doing anyway.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Bruce, I don’t know how many times I need to tell you to get out before I give you a black eye, but you’re getting close. _Really_ close.”

“Besides, I haven’t heard from her since…since earlier.”

“Oh God, someone call the police.” Selina mocked. “An hour without hearing from your precious Silver St. Cloud, what could have happened?”

“I’m serious, Selina.”

“Fine, okay, they go hang out with Jeremiah. I don’t want you here.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He felt fear rising back up in him again, and Selina seemed to sense it in his tone, because she paused to look at him intently.

“About Jeremiah?”

“Yes, he’s…” Bruce trailed off, the reality of it all setting in.

His friend was missing, and he didn’t know where…didn’t even know _why._ And there was nothing he could do about it. For a moment, he felt just like he had more than a year ago, that night in the alley as the masked man had shot his parents where they stood, and Bruce had watched the life flow out of them as he sat there alone in the darkness.

It was the same helplessness he felt now, the same cold horror as realization gripped him. 

Selina frowned. “What’s wrong, Bruce?”  
“Someone has him, Selina, and I don’t know who, but they’ve taken him and I…I don’t know what to do about it, and…” He floundered helplessly, everything he’d wanted to say coming out in a jumbled, incoherent rush. Selina stared.

“What?”

“Mr. Galavan called me about it, he said I can’t call the police, I can’t do anything but wait until _they_ call, and there’s nothing I can do, and I don’t even know who these people are, but…”

“You mean he’s been kidnapped?” she asked sharply, striding closer to him. Bruce nodded wordlessly. Her eyes flamed with anger. “I let that dumbass nerd out of my sight for three hours and already something goes wrong. Who did it?”

“I told you, I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” He spread his arms wide in a helpless gesture. “I only know what Mr. Galavan told me.”

“How was _he_ mixed up in this?” There was a dangerous, suspicious glint in her eye.

“He’s not, he just wanted to meet Jeremiah, and it was after, when he was leaving…he called me right away to tell me everything he knew.”

“Well, what are you going to do?” she interrupted urgently. “You know Miah, he wouldn’t last a day with people like that. The kid has no survival instincts, and he’s probably so freaked out.”

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t call the police, not until I know who these people are. They could be watching me all the time for all I know, and I can’t risk anything happening to Jeremiah until I figure out what’s going on. I don’t even know what they want from me yet.”

“But you’re not just gonna sit around until something happens, are you?” she protested. “Bruce, don’t you realize, with everything that’s happened with Jerome, and people who’ve held grudges against that psycho…no one knows who Jeremiah is, they only know his brother, and if they think _he’s_ Jerome, he could really be in danger.”

“I _know.”_ Bruce couldn’t hide the desperation in his voice. “But I still don’t know what to do.”

“You have to find these people.” she said decidedly. “And if you’re not gonna do anything about it, then _I_ will. Someone’s gotta look out for that little idiot.” Her words were brusque, but Bruce could see genuine worry shining in her eyes. 

“I’m going to try to find them, but I don’t know where to start. I have to know more about this first, and also, I had to find you. Because if they’re trying to get something from _me,_ then they’re going after my friends. And that puts you in danger.”

Selina rolled her eyes. “Oh, _now_ I’m your friend?”  
“You’ve always been my friend. I said I was sorry for the things I said to you earlier. Can we just…put that aside for now, until this is all over? I don’t want anything to happen to you, too, Selina.”

“Oh, shut up, I can take care of myself. If anyone messes with me, I’ll scratch their eyes out.”

“Would you at least come by the manor every day so I know you’re all right?” he asked tentatively. Selina snorted.

“I thought I was supposed to stay away from the manor.”

“Selina, I understand why you said what you did, and I…”

“No, you don’t, because you still don’t believe me. So just drop it.”

“Can we please forget all that for now? This is more important. I have to make sure you’re going to be okay.”

“No, you don’t. I’m not going to listen to you just because you’re suddenly paranoid. What you should be worried about is Jeremiah, and you’re not doing a lot of work just standing there.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “So go.”

“Selina—"

“You kicked me out of your house earlier, now it’s my turn.” She shoved him unceremoniously out the door, slamming it behind him. Bruce turned around to try to reason with her, but when he heard the click of the lock, he knew it would be useless. She was still upset about what he had said earlier, and now worried on top of it. And besides, he needed to get back home. 

There wasn’t anything else he could do.

 

\+ + + + + + + 

 

Galavan stood in the doorway, his attention mostly focused on some documents he was rifling through as he spoke. “What is it now, Jerome?”

“I was wonderin’, boss, when are you gonna reveal to Brucie that it’s you behind all this? I mean, that’s what we need brotein shake for,” he nodded back at Jeremiah, who was watching silently from the corner, “and you know I’m not the most patient guy.”

“I would prefer if Bruce would sell me his company without the knowledge of this situation, but if it comes to it, I may have to resort to that. And of course, this will all be necessary for the second and most important part of all this when he _does_ learn what I’ve done.”

“Well, how’s he gonna sell you his company without offering him something he really wants? He doesn’t have any reason.” Jerome asked curiously. Galavan sighed.

“The pressure of having your friend held for ransom because of your wealth is quite enough to convince a young boy to hand over his power to someone more competent than he. And if that isn’t enough to persuade him, then of course I can reveal everything, but it would be much easier and likely less risky to do it it my way. I can’t afford to have him running to the police if I can help it.”

“Okay, but here’s my question. I’ve been waiting for this for _years,_ and you’re tellin’ me I need to wait even longer to—"

“I really don’t care what you do, as long as you don’t kill him.” Galavan interrupted, still absorbed in whatever he was reading over. “I wish you’d maybe listen once in a while when I talk, I’ve told you that about five times already. Don’t bother me anymore. I’m busy.” He strode out, shutting the door behind him, and Jerome turned to his brother, his eyes dancing with excitement. Jeremiah tensed, trying to hide the fear consuming him. 

“Feels just like Christmas, except this time I really do get a present.” Jerome grinned, picking up the baseball bat he’d set on the armchair and twirling it like a baton in one hand. “This’ll be so much more fun than cutting up birds and mice and things. _They_ get boring after a while, can’t _do_ anything except just sit there and die. But _this,”_ he stepped closer to Jeremiah who curled up defensively, trembling, “this’ll be much more interesting.” 

Without warning, he swung the bat like a club, bringing it down on his brother’s shoulder blades. Jeremiah bit his tongue to stifle a cry of pain, but tears sprang to his eyes and he huddled further into the corner, keeping his head down. He heard Jerome’s delighted laugh ring out above him, and his mind flashed back to when they were younger and still living with the circus, how Jerome used to show him, with such terrifying enthusiasm, the mutilated animals he’d caught, how he’d bragged about the way he’d tormented them to death, how Jeremiah had always run away in horror, unable to forget the grotesque sight that would haunt him in nightmares for weeks after. He was never able to look at any living thing without imagining involuntarily how it would look if Jerome got his hands on it, maimed and lifeless.

_And now he has you instead._

He shut his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth as Jerome hit him again, his thoughts blurring into an incoherent cloud of pain as he wished, with a final shred of defiance, that Jerome had been killed for good that night back at the charity ball.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

 

“This must be a troubling time for you.” Theo Galavan, staring into the fireplace contemplatively with his hands crossed behind his back, spoke to Bruce, who was sitting at the desk behind him. The latter nodded slowly, looking out the window with tired eyes.

“I don’t know what to do. I haven’t heard from anyone, and I can’t call the police in case someone’s listening. I can’t risk putting my friend in more danger, but if I don’t do anything, then I’m not helping, either. He could be in danger right now, but there’s no way for me to know.” His voice caught on a despairing sigh, and Galavan turned around to see the boy put his head in his hands, looking the epitome of dejection. 

“I’m very sorry.” he said sincerely, crossing the room to stand on the other side of the desk. “I wish I hadn’t had to be the bearer of that bad news.”

Bruce looked up. “You helped as much as you could. I’m grateful for that. “ He tried to smile appreciatively, but it was forced and stiff, and his eyes betrayed his unhappiness. Galavan sighed.

“It’s revolting that they’re trying to exploit you for your wealth. They didn’t even target a well-off adult…they went straight for a child billionaire.” Seeing the look on Bruce’s face, he added, “Of course, I know you are mature beyond your years, but I still find it horrifying that someone would stoop so low.”

“Do you think that’s why they did it?” Bruce had gone back and forth on the supposed motive for everything that had happened; at first, he’d thought maybe someone had mistook Jeremiah for his twin, but then he’d considered the same statement Galavan had just made, that someone was trying to trade off power and money in exchange for his friend. 

“I don't see why else. You’re Bruce Wayne, after all. Your very name is synonymous with wealth.”

Bruce turned away again despairingly. “But I didn’t _ask_ to be rich, or to have any power in this city. I mean, it’s not like I run Wayne Enterprises yet or anything. They won’t listen to me there when I try to…well, when I’ve been trying to expose some things that haven’t been exactly legal. Why would someone try to get anything from me when I can’t even make decisions for my own company?”

Galavan shook his head. “Perhaps they aren’t aware of that. After all, the Waynes have been in power for so long, everyone assumes they are involved in the workings of everything in this city one way or another. That’s the disadvantage that comes with being associated with your own family’s legacy.”

“I hate it.” Bruce said quietly, his weary expression betraying his sleepless night and growing concern. “I’d give it all up if it meant it wouldn’t put my friends in danger. It’s not worth that.”

Galavan watched him carefully. “Now, Bruce, I wouldn’t say that. That’s just the sort of thing that comes with being in your situation. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“There has to be.” he argued, staring down at the desktop in front of him. “If something happens to Jeremiah…if I…if I never see him again, I’ll never forgive myself. I told him…I told him everything was going to be okay.” He drew in a shaking breath. “And he believed it. _I_ believed it. But I was wrong.”

“You can’t help that.” Galavan said kindly, sitting down in the nearby armchair. “You can’t be responsible for what everyone else does, and you thought it was the truth, I’m sure.”

“But I was wrong, and it’s my fault. If they took him because they wanted _my_ money…then it’s my fault.”

“But it’s not your fault that you were born into this position, is it?” Galavan pointed out consolingly, and Bruce shrugged. “It’s not as if you can simply hand everything off to someone else and let them take the reins and responsibility.”

“I just—" Bruce paused, something like hope sparking in his gaze. “But I _could,_ you know.”

Galavan raised on eyebrow curiously. “Could what?”

He tapped the tip of the pencil he was holding against a stack of papers thoughtfully. “I don’t _have_ to be in charge of it all, maybe I…” He paused, then shook his head decidedly, the light disappearing from his eyes. “No, it has to stay like this.”

“What are you talking about, Bruce?”

He turned to Galavan, his mouth twisting to the side contemplatively. “I was thinking that maybe I could let someone else take the lead in all this…the company, the businesses, money and things like that. Maybe then nothing like this would happen again. But I can’t do that. I just can’t.”

“Why not?” the man asked quietly.

“Because my parents wanted me to continue on for them. I can’t betray what they wanted.”

“Bruce, I’m sure that, considering the circumstances, they wouldn’t have had any objection.”

“But what if it turns out I gave it over to someone who didn’t do what my parents wanted? Wayne Enterprises is already causing problems, and they’re fighting against everything my father worked to build. If I chose the wrong person to take over for me, then it could get even worse.”

“Not if you took great care to choose the right person. Forgive me for being forward, but I could even help you with that process if you wanted some assistance.”

Bruce smiled faintly, then sighed. “But I can’t abandon everything my parents wanted me to carry on for them. My family has been in Gotham for years, and if I threw it all away…”

“Bruce, let me tell you something.” Galavan looked him in the eye seriously. “Your situation is very unique, you realize. You have been orphaned at a very young age, and to bear the responsibility of carrying multiple companies on your back, as well as managing your own personal family legacy, on top of trying to maintain your own life…that is a ridiculously difficult task to ask of _anyone,_ let alone a thirteen-year-old boy. You know I have the utmost faith in your abilities,” he continued, when Bruce’s face fell, “and of course, I would never want to see your parents’ hard work coming undone under the hand of some corrupt businessman, but you cannot forget about yourself. If you sacrifice your own happiness and friends and life for a company and a public profile…well, you know your parents wouldn’t have wanted that. They loved you, and they would have wanted you to enjoy your life, not be crushed beneath the weight of the responsibilities they left behind for you.”

Bruce was silent, absorbing the man’s words. Galavan glanced at him, then continued,

“Of course, it’s not up to me to even be saying anything on the matter…it’s your friend and your company and your wellbeing that lay on the line, and I shouldn’t be intruding on that…”

“No, it’s all right.” Bruce said hurriedly. “I don’t mind hearing what you have to say. And it makes sense. It’s just…” _I can’t let Wayne Enterprises down. Not with the corruption and destruction of everything they used to be._ “I’d do anything to make sure Jeremiah’s safe, no matter what it takes. But I have to think about it before I decide on anything. And besides, I haven’t even heard from these people. I don’t even know if that’s what they want from me.”

Galavan nodded, standing up. “Bruce, I hope you realize you are wise beyond your years. Whatever your decision is, I’m sure it will be the right one.”

“Do you think he’s all right?” Galavan was silent, and Bruce looked up, his eyes searching, pleading for an answer. “They’re not going to hurt him, are they?”

Galavan hesitated. “Like I said, I don’t even know who these people are. I wouldn’t want to make any false assumptions about anything.”

Bruce stood up. “But do you think he’s going to be okay?” His voice trembled, and he gripped the edge of the desk tightly.

“Bruce, I wish I had the answer, but I don’t. I’m not trying to worry you, of course, but I simply can’t say. I don’t know.”

Bruce’s shoulders slumped and he looked more worried than ever. “Okay.” he said slowly, not bothering to hide the overwhelmed uncertainty in his tone. 

“I’m sorry, Bruce. I don’t think I’ve been very helpful for you.” Galavan said regretfully. 

“No, no you have.” he replied quickly. “Really, you have. I’m just worried.”

“Well, I apologize for harping on such subjects.” the man persisted. Bruce shook his head.

“It’s all right. Honestly. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

Galavan smiled at him graciously.

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

Jeremiah stared at the locked door, trying to focus his gaze even with the pain pounding incessantly through his head and exhaustion creeping at the corners of his mind. He blinked, forcing himself desperately to stay awake, the adrenaline of fear that had filled him earlier gone and leaving him drained. Jerome had gone out an hour ago, saying something to Tabitha about ordering pizza for breakfast, and Jeremiah hadn’t heard either of them in the penthouse since then. He knew Galavan had gone to see Bruce (he came close to breaking down at the very thought of it, wishing helplessly that he could somehow warn his friend) and he hadn’t seen Silver the night before or this morning. There was only one thought in his mind now, the only thing he was focused on.

_You have to try to get out._

He knew what Galavan had said about escape being futile, but it couldn’t make things worse to try. Besides, it was his only remaining option. It was either that, or wait around for Jerome to eventually kill him, which he knew, with absolute certainty, would happen sooner or later.

It had come as a sort of surprise how his terror began to fade away as soon as his twin had left…perhaps it was partly due to how thoroughly worn out he was from the sleepless night he’d spent, frozen in fear in the corner of the room as Jerome curled up blissfully under the covers of the bed and didn’t wake up until ten o’clock the next morning. Combined with the logical side of his brain, which told him there was no use wasting energy on needless panic when the threat was, at least for now, out of sight, the overwhelming sense of fear that had consumed him had diminished, for the moment.

Still, it was impossible to _not_ think about Jerome, and wonder, despite his best efforts not to, what his brother was planning for him in the coming days. That was torture in and of itself…the uncertainty of it all, coupled with the one thing he _was_ sure of: his brother’s hatred. There was nothing Jeremiah could say to reason with him, no way he could disprove any of Jerome’s accusations. His twin believed what he wanted to believe, and even if he could have proven him wrong, it wouldn’t have mattered. Jerome _liked_ hurting people, liked being the one in power, and nothing could persuade him to give that up once it had been handed to him.

All of this made Jeremiah even more intent on escaping, no matter what Galavan had said to discourage him.

From the sun shining in through the window, he could tell it was still morning, and no one seemed to be back at the penthouse yet. If he was lucky, that could give him enough time to possibly find some sort of way out. 

If he wasn’t…

Jeremiah didn’t want to think about what would happen then.

He had barely moved from his spot in the corner since the night before, and when he slowly got to his feet, he bit down hard on his lip to hold back a gasp of pain. Jerome had been unrelenting in his attack last night, ignoring his brother’s pleas to stop, and the pain hadn’t lessened since then…in fact, it was worse. His torso and arms were covered in bruises, and his face was battered, with one eye swollen shut and a busted lip. His head was spinning and he leaned against the wall for a long moment, never letting his gaze leave the locked door, knowing otherwise he might simply slump down in the corner again and pass out. 

Clenching his jaw tightly and supporting himself on the wall, he stumbled toward the door, fumbling with the handle for a long moment as everything continued to swim in and out of focus. His left hand had gone numb—part of his mind vaguely wondered if anything was broken—but he eventually turned the key in the lock and the door swung open with a creak that broke the heavy silence. Jeremiah flinched at the sound, freezing in place until he was sure the apartment was empty. He couldn’t see anyone, and the lights were off, which gave him the slightest bit of reassurance. 

_Don’t just stand there, you have to find a way out._

He forced himself to stand up straight, only to curl in on himself, wrapping his arms around his chest to try and lessen the pain even for a moment. Forcefully blinking tears back from his eyes and adjusting his glasses (he’d hidden them behind him last night, determined that Jerome wouldn’t break them in his bout of violence), he stepped out of the bedroom and looked around, the world still spinning maddeningly even as some of the dizziness subsided.

There was absolute silence, and he sighed in relief. No one was about to jump out at him, at least, and stab him or something equally unpleasant. He slowly made his way to one of the windows, looking out at the city street below as Gotham’s citizens swarmed by, blissfully ignorant of what was happening above them. Galavan had been telling the truth when he’d said there was no way down from there…they were at least five stories up and there wasn’t even a ledge outside the window. Jeremiah paused for a a moment, resting his head against the cool pane of glass, his usually quick mind trying to formulate some sort of idea underneath the murkiness of half-consciousness that was currently taking over all his other thoughts. 

_Open the window. If you call for help, someone will_ have _to hear you._

His heart leapt in his chest with a sudden surge of hope, and he reached down to try and raise the window sash, but it didn’t move, and the hope dispersed as soon as it had appeared. After a long moment of useless struggling, he gave up, stepping back and surveying the glass fastened to the wall around it with a combination of annoyance and desperation. 

The next thought that occurred to him was to break the window, and he looked around for something heavy enough to do the job. There was a large vase on a side table by the couch, and he picked it up, trying to ignore the ever-increasing pounding in his head as he tested its weight. It wouldn’t be enough to break through a thick pane of glass, and he set it back down dejectedly, leaning on his wrists along the back of the couch as he hung his head and waited for the growing haze in his mind to withdraw. Despite his best efforts, he could feel fear creeping back, and he closed his eyes tightly, trying to imagine what Bruce would do if he was in the same situation.

_He wouldn’t be scared. Bruce never gets scared. He’d find a way out, and if he couldn’t, he would never let anyone see if he really was afraid. He would hide it, no matter what._

_But you can’t do that, because you aren’t Bruce, you can’t do what he does because you’re a coward, and he’s not. You’re the one who hid away from Jerome all these years, always afraid he would find you, afraid he would kill you._

_And now that’s here._

_It’s happening after all._

_You should have known you could never escape him._

Exhaustion taking hold of him again, he crumpled in a heap on the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest and leaning his head agains the back of the couch. He shuddered as pain racked his body again, and tried desperately to imagine what things could be like once he got out of here, because he would get out, he _had_ to…after everything, he wasn’t going to die here by the hand of his own brother who he’d spent his life trying to hide from…

_It’ll get better, once this is over. Everything can go back to normal, you can go back to Bruce and Selina and Alfred and it’ll be okay again, just like Bruce said it would be…just like you believed it would be when he said that to you, even if it wasn’t true…_

_This can’t be the end of it all._

Then the front door of the penthouse swung open, accompanied by a familiar laugh, and Jeremiah’s eyes shot open as his entire body stiffened in fear. His heart slammed against his ribcage and for a moment, he felt as if his breath had been cut off entirely. There were approaching footsteps, then Jerome’s voice as the shadow of his twin fell across the floor in front of him.

“Well, well, what a fun surprise. Takin’ a tour, are you?” Suddenly Jerome was in front of him, crouching down like a cat, grinning in Jeremiah’s face. “How d’ja like the place?”

“Didn’t you lock the door?” Tabitha, who had come in behind Jerome and was now busy opening a case of knives on the desk, asked over her shoulder. 

“Guess I forgot to lock it on the outside. Not like anyone can get outta here anyway.” He raised an eyebrow playfully at his twin. “I bet you _tried_ to get out, huh? Obviously didn’t work, but still. You get points for trying.” He patted Jeremiah roughly on his bruised shoulder, and the latter flinched, fighting back the tears that insisted on brimming in his wide eyes. Jerome noticed, and his expression became mockingly sad.

“Aw, lil bro, don’t cry. You’re ruining the mood.”

Tabitha strolled over to them, polishing a curved knife on her sleeve. “You sure you’re identical twins? You guys don’t even look the same.”

Jerome shrugged. “That’s just cause I never cry and I don’t wear nerd glasses.” He ruffled Jeremiah’s hair and slid down next to him alongside the back of the couch, pulling a face that looked convincingly like he was on the verge of tears. “Better?”

Tabitha nodded appreciatively. “I see it now.”

“Hey, when’s Theo getting back?” Jerome, tired of imitating his brother, rocketed to his feet and brushed off his shirt. “Heard he went over to talk to Brucie Wayne.”

“He’s trying to convince him to sell his company.” she replied, rolling her eyes. “We went over this.”

“Yeah, well, it’s easy to forget when it’s just boring stuff like that.” he retorted. “Anywho, when’s he getting back?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe half an hour?”

Jerome gave his twin a malicious smile. “Whaddya say we have some fun before he’s home?”

Tabitha looked bored. “What kind of fun?”

He nodded at Jeremiah. “With broski here. Maybe pretend to be circus knife throwers. I’m not very good, but hey, practice makes perfect. You don’t mind, do you Miah?” Petrified, Jeremiah didn’t reply. Tabitha shook her head, turning away on her heel.

“Nope. I don’t kill kids.”

“We’re not gonna _kill_ him.” Jerome said cajolingly. “I’m a good enough knife thrower to make sure I don’t kill the people I throw knives at.”

“First of all, I don’t think that’s true at all. Secondly, I also don’t torture kids. It’s not my thing.”

“You don’t have any problem killing and torturing other people.”

“Yeah, but that’s different. Your brother,” she pointed at Jeremiah, “shouldn’t be mixed up in all this. I’m not going to argue with you or Theo, because I get it, I know we need him, and to be honest, I don't feel badly enough to do anything about it, but that doesn’t mean I think it’s fun.”

Jerome pouted for a moment, scuffing his foot on the floor like a petulant toddler, before brightening up again. “Well, can I borrow some of your knives, then? I’ll give ‘em back.” 

Tabitha shrugged. “I don’t care. Just put them back where you found them when you’re done. If you ruin any of them, I’ll toss you out the window.”

“Thought you didn’t kill kids.” He flashed her his most winsome smile. She rolled her eyes.

“For you, I could make an exception.”

“Aw, Miss Galavan, I’m flattered.” he laughed, then reached down and pulled Jeremiah to his feet. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Jeremiah tried to pull away from him, but Jerome’s grip was strong, and everything was still spinning wherever he looked. He shook his head to try and clear some of the dizziness away, and Jerome scowled impatiently.

“Jeez, Miah, you need to toughen up. It’s like you don’t even remember when we would get beat up at the circus before you bailed out on me.”

“That was different.” he muttered, surprised at his own defiance. “No one ever hit me with a baseball bat for half an hour at the circus.”

“What difference does it make?” his brother asked airily.

Jeremiah didn’t reply, too busy trying to will away the black spots that danced in his line of vision as he wavered on the edge of consciousness. Jerome pushed him back into the bedroom and began digging through his closet of knives and other various dangerous objects. 

“Would you prefer to be impaled by a classic throwing knife,” he held one up on display before tossing it carelessly over his shoulder, “or something a bit more upscale, like this fancy thingamajig?” Picking up a long dagger, he examined it thoughtfully before shoving it back into the closet. “Nah, I like the first one better. There’s a beauty to the simplicity, wouldn't you say?”

Despite his fear, Jeremiah managed to retort, “I’ve never known you to do anything simply.”

“So, a little variation, then.” Jerome said agreeably, tossing the knife up in the air experimentally and watching the light catch on the edge of the blade. “You don’t seem very scared for someone about to have a sharp object thrown at them.”

“Well, you can’t kill me.” he pointed out with as much bravado as he could muster. “Whatever you do, you can’t kill me.”

“Jeez, why is everyone always harping on that?” Jerome’s voice rose in irritation, and Jeremiah instinctively cringed, which made his brother smile. “There, that’s the you I like to see. Pretending to be brave is fun and all, but it’s even more fun when you let everyone see how scared you are. Because we both know you’ve always been scared of me.” His smile widened.

“If you didn’t want that, then you should have tried not threatening me every day of our lives.” Jeremiah shot back.

“Who says I didn’t want that? I think it’s great.” He ran a finger along the edge of the blade slowly. “Now, stay still. I’m no knife-throwing expert, as you’re well aware.”

Jeremiah’s breath caught in his throat as his twin flung the knife at him, ducking as it sailed above his head and was embedded in the wall. Jerome sighed in exasperation.

“Ugh, I shoulda thought this through better. Now I’m gonna have to get it out.” He strode past Jeremiah, shoving him aside. “I thought I told you not to move.”

Shaken, Jeremiah didn’t answer, but backed away up against the foot of the bed. Jerome, having retrieved his knife, turned around. “Okay, maybe knife-throwing isn’t the way to go.”

“What is it you want from me, Jerome?” Jeremiah asked quietly, his voice trembling. He couldn’t clear the exhaustion and pain from his mind, and everything was blurring together in an incomprehensible mess. Jerome, dusting the knife off on his shirt, came closer.

“I don’t really want anything from you. I just want to enjoy myself. And this is very enjoyable.”

“Why?” he asked pleadingly, trying to focus his gaze on his twin as best he could with a raging headache and a black eye. Jerome laughed.

“There is no _why._ You aren’t gonna talk me out of this, Miah, because I don’t have a reason. It’s just because. That’s all.” 

“There’s got to be a reason.” he argued half-heartedly, trying to back away from Jerome but finding he was cornered. “Whatever it is, there’s got to be something.”

“Nope. There really isn’t. You just don’t get it because you’re too busy being _sane_. Maybe you didn’t catch that little speech I made at the police station the other month?” When his brother didn’t answer, he continued, “See, you don’t realize what I’ve always known. What I’ve tried to tell you before, but you never listened because you didn’t want to listen. But you and me, we’re the same, whether you like it or not. And if I’m crazy, then guess what.” Jerome was mere inches away from him by now, the knife still in his hand. “So are you.”

Jeremiah shook his head vehemently. “No. That’s not true.”

“It is, and you know it. You just don’t want to accept it.” 

“I’m not like you. I’m not. We’re nothing alike.”

“Yeah, keep tellin’ yourself that. See how far that gets you. Sooner or later, you’ll realize I’ve been right all along.”

“I would _never_ be like you.” Jeremiah retorted between his teeth as his eyes flashed with sudden, desperate intensity. “No one ever would. You’re alone.”

It was Jerome’s turn to look angry, and Jeremiah felt a sudden, sharp sting as the knife dug into his arm. He drew in a quick breath, the defiance flooding out of his eyes, and he tried to pull away, but Jerome dragged him closer, wrenching the knife out and holding it to his twin’s throat. Jeremiah felt blood from the gash on his arm running down his hand and fingertips, and he froze, breathing heavily as he stared at Jerome.

“You can’t kill me.” he whispered as the blade pressed tighter against his throat. “You’re not allowed.”

“Don’t you worry, I’m not killing you.” the other redhead whispered back, flicking the knife carelessly. Jeremiah winced, gritting his teeth, and Jerome grinned widely, laughter dancing in his eyes that glittered with a wild light.

“There’s plenty of time for that later.”


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

 

“Miss Kyle is here to see you.” Alfred appeared in the doorway of Bruce’s bedroom, where the latter was lying morosely over the edge of an armchair, staring at the ceiling with heavy eyes. At the butler’s announcement, though, he sat up, his expression becoming both confused and tentatively relieved.

“Selina? She’s here?”

“Well, that’s what I said, didn’t I? I told her to wait in the study.”

Bruce scrambled to his feet, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt. “Do I look okay?”

Alfred surveyed him critically. “A bit of a mess if you ask me. When was the last time you got some sleep?”

His shoulders slumped and he looked away. “How can you expect me to sleep when one of my friends is out there somewhere and I don’t know if he’s okay or not?” 

Alfred shook his head. “Well, you aren’t going to be much help saving him if you don’t take care of yourself, Master Bruce.”

“It’s been four whole days, Alfred, and I still haven’t heard anything.” Bruce ran a hand through his hair helplessly. “Nothing at all. I don’t know what they want from me.”

“I thought you determined they were after your money.”

“I know, but they haven’t even told me where I could send it to them if that’s what they want. I don’t even know who they are.”

“Perhaps they’re trying to break you down, so to speak. Worry you to the point that you would do anything to please them.”

Bruce sighed. “I’d do anything for them _now.”_

“Steady on, you don’t want to do jumping to decisions like that right now, Master Bruce.” Alfred said carefully. “We must think rationally about these things before anything else, you know.”

“I know.” he replied impatiently, brushing past Alfred and down the hall. “It’s just that I’ve been thinking about what Mr. Galavan said the other day.”

The butler followed him. “About selling your company to someone, you mean? I realize Galavan has been kind to you, Master Bruce, but that doesn’t make him the expert on these sorts of things. I know he’s been pressuring you to give up Wayne Enterprises, but—"

“He’s a businessman, he knows enough about it.” Bruce said shortly. “And he’s not pressuring me. In fact, he said I shouldn’t make any lasting decisions without thinking seriously about them first, so it’s not like he _wants_ me to sell Wayne Enterprises.”

“It’s always the businessmen who get under your skin.” Alfred muttered, mostly to himself than anything else. “Waiting for the right time, then springing on the poor souls they’re after until they get what they want.”

Bruce turned around with a frown on his face. “That’s not what he’s like. He’s not trying to take advantage of all this. He’s just trying to help me.”

“Oh, right, help you. And why? What exactly is the man going to get out of it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he’s trying to get anything out of it. Can’t you just believe in people being nice for the sake of being nice?”

“No, Master Bruce, I cannot. Not strangers like Galavan, anyway. That’s not to say I don’t approve of the man, or his niece…I think they’re respectable people and I would much rather see you in their company than the many others you _could_ have chosen to spend your time with, but that does not mean I can’t see through a scheme like that when I need to.”

“There’s no scheming going on. He hasn’t even asked me for anything. What are you even saying he wants?”

“Why, your company, of course. What else? He’s trying to hound you until you break under the strain and give it up. This was the perfect chance for him, and if the man sees an opportunity, you can bet he’ll take it. Galavan might be a good man, but he’s also a businessman, and they have priorities.”

Bruce hadn’t listened after the first sentence. “Alfred, I didn’t think of that.”

“Of course you didn’t. That’s why I’m here to tell you.”

“Do you really think I could sell him my company?” 

The butler stopped short. “Master Bruce, were you not paying any attention to what I just said to you?”

“Alfred, please. I’m just trying to do what I can with…everything that’s been going on. If I could let Galavan take the company, I’d know it was in good hands and my friends’ lives wouldn’t be at risk anymore because no one could come to _me_ for the things they want.”

“But don’t you see—"

“Do you think he would accept if I offered to him?” Bruce continued, pausing to look back at Alfred, who was standing in the middle of the hallway, shaking his head.

“You cannot give up Wayne Enterprises, and you know it. It may seem like a daunting responsibility now, what with this nonsense from the board and all that, which I think you should leave well enough alone until you’re older, but I cannot condone you giving it all up in the spur of the moment because you are worried about the repercussions. That’s not what your father did, and it’s not what you should do.”

Bruce’s face fell at the mention of his father and he shuffled his feet, staring down at the floor dismally. “But I don’t _want_ it. I don’t want the responsibility.”

“You have to stop blaming yourself for what someone else did.” Alfred said firmly. “It wasn’t your fault, what happened to Jeremiah. And you shouldn’t have to change because of it. You were not in the wrong, and if you want to fix this problem that lies before you, you can’t begin by trying to reverse something you had no part in. You simply have to look forward and figure out how you can solve the problem."

"But what if all this,” he gestured vaguely to the house around him, “is the problem? What if they keep targeting people I care about because they know I can pay up? They know it’s worth it? I can’t risk that, Alfred.”

“So you would let them get the better of you and be bullied into giving everything up, everything your family worked for and built from their very foundations? It's not the way you can make things better, or more fair for anyone.” Alfred’s tone grew kinder. “Understand, Master Bruce, that isn’t justice. It’s surrender.”

Bruce didn’t reply, but the butler could see a glimmer of understanding beginning to build in his eyes. “And now, I believe Miss Kyle is most likely still waiting for you, if she hasn’t grown bored and leapt out the window or some such stunt.” 

Bruce nodded slowly, still thinking over Alfred’s words. “Okay.” He pushed open the study door and stepped inside, glancing nervously around for Selina, who he eventually spotted sitting cross-legged on the back of the couch, staring at the unused chess set on the table in front of her with a distant expression. She looked up quickly when Bruce entered and crossed her arms.

“Took you long enough. Did you stop for a sandwich or something?”

“Sorry, I was talking to Alfred.” He closed the door behind him. “Is something wrong?”

“Well, I know you told me you didn’t want me in your house…”

“Selina, you know I didn’t mean that. I was just—"

“I’m not here for apologies, Bruce. So don’t waste your breath. This is strictly just me wanting to know what’s going on, then I’m outta here.”

“But I want you to know I’m sorry for what I said and I’d take it back if I could. Really, I…”

“That ranks about a two on a one-to-ten sincerity scale.” she said sarcastically, plucking at the loose threads on the back of the couch. “And besides, I literally just told you I don’t want to hear it.”

Bruce gave up reluctantly, but knew he wouldn’t drop the subject completely. Ever since he’d realized how Selina had been feeling, he’d wanted nothing more than to work it out with her. But after he’d gone to her home and she had locked him out, he hadn’t seen her since. That had been four days ago, during which the only people who had been in the manor were Theo Galavan and Alfred, and Bruce had felt like he would lose his mind. Even Silver hadn’t called, and he’d never felt more lonely in his life. “Then why are you here?” 

“I want to know what’s going on with Jeremiah. Why aren’t you doing anything about it?” She looked at him sharply, almost accusingly, and Bruce sighed.

“There isn’t anything I _can_ do.” he replied for what felt like the millionth time. “At least, nothing I’ve worked out yet.”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Bruce, do you hear yourself? You’re just moping around your manor feeling sorry for yourself while your friend, who, by the way, thinks you’re some kind of hero or something, is in danger.”

“I’m _not.”_ he shot back with more anger than he intended. Selina’s words cut deeper than she realized, not knowing that Bruce had been accusing himself of that very thing for the past four days. For a moment, she looked taken aback at his tone, then shrugged it off.

“So what exactly are you doing then?”

“I’m waiting for someone to tell me what’s going on.” he replied defeatedly.

“I didn’t know you were the type of person to do that. Thought maybe you’d actually try to do something on your own and figure out your own problems.”

“Selina, I don’t think you realize that I have literally nothing to go off of. No information of any kind, I don’t know who they are, where they’re from, or what they want. If I could do something, do you really think I’d be sitting around the house like this?”

Her expression became less belligerent and she stood up slowly. “Guess not.”

He followed her. “If I could do something about it, I would.”

“Okay.” She picked up one of the chess pieces, brushing off the thin layer of dust that had collected on it. “I just hope…” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head brusquely, turning around. “See you later, Bruce. I’ve got places to be.”

“Selina, wait.” He laid a hand on her arm before she could leave, and she spun around to face him, one eyebrow raised.

“What?”

Bruce cleared his throat, trying to maintain eye contact with her. “I know you said you didn’t want to hear it, but please listen to me. I really am sorry for what I said the other day, and I didn’t mean it, about telling you to stay out. I just didn’t understand.”

“Oh yeah, and you understand now?”

“I mean, I don’t believe what you said about Silver, but…”

“So you don’t get it.” she interrupted. 

“You don’t have any proof.”

She crossed her arms. “Fine. I don’t have proof. It’s just a feeling, but I was trying to help you.” _Protect you,_ the unspoken words between them whispered. “Can you blame me for that?”  
“I just said I didn’t blame you.”

She shook her head. “I’m not gonna argue with you on this, Bruce. It’s not worth it, because you won’t change your mind. But I know I’m right.”

“I am sorry, though.” he followed her as she crossed the room to the balcony.

“I know.” She gave him a half-smile, which, Bruce had come to learn, was about as affectionate as Selina got, and he smiled back in relief. Even if there was still tension between them, it wasn’t as bad as before.

And that was better than nothing.

 

\+ + + + + + 

 

_You won’t do it._

Jeremiah clutched the knife handle like a lifeline…it was cold and unbreakable and _real,_ and in the midst of the doubt that clouded his mind, it was the only thing he could trust.

_You say you will, but when the time comes, you’ll back down._

_You always back down._

He shivered, staring at the sleeping figure of his brother, tangled red hair sticking out from under the bedcovers. From the corner by the closet where he stood, Jeremiah wondered if Jerome could hear his heartbeat…in the silence, it sounded deafening, betraying his own fear.

_One way or another, you have to get out of here. No matter what it takes. To warn Bruce, and to save yourself. You can’t let it end like this._

He knew it was probably hopeless…he didn’t have a plan as much as a vague belief that somehow, if he rebelled in some way against his captors, that maybe there would be some way to escape. Earlier in the evening, when he had been left alone in the room, he’d been certain he could do whatever was necessary to get out, had at least a sliver of confidence in himself that he could succeed.

But now, standing in the darkness, gripping onto the knife Jerome had been throwing at the target on the wall earlier and had left lying on the ground, every ounce of that confidence disappeared. His mind was racing, half of it begging him to forget this crazy idea and try to get some sleep while he could, the other half insisting that this was his chance, his only way to find some sort of path to freedom.

The reality was that he could barely think straight and, if he had been in the same situation four days ago, he never would have considered even looking at a knife as a possibility of killing anyone else, let alone his own brother. He didn’t even have the next idea about _how_ to kill anyone with a knife, but in the moment, it didn’t matter. Whatever sort of rationale he would have possessed then was beginning to break under the pressure of the constant terror and pain and exhaustion that overpowered everything else in his consciousness.

_Is this what going crazy feels like?_ he thought bitterly, trying not to dwell on that contemplation in case he began to take it seriously. 

Jerome had left him mostly alone for the past two days, mainly because Galavan had kept him busy with whatever plans he was concocting for Gotham. Jerome wasn’t exactly thrilled about doing more work for Galavan, especially when he was supposed to be dead and couldn’t make a show out of anything anymore, but Jeremiah had been grateful, if only because it saved him from further torment from his twin for at least a few days.

Still, Jerome hadn’t neglected to send a kick or a punch his way when he _was_ at the penthouse, mainly because he enjoyed the look on his brother’s face whenever he entered the room and would do anything to maintain that position of feared captor. But he ignored Jeremiah for the most part during those days, with Galavan keeping him occupied for so much of the time.

Jeremiah barely slept during the nights, spending most of the time staring out the window with heavy eyes, trying to conjure up some sort of feasible plan to escape, although most of the time his thoughts traveled back to the time he’d spent at Wayne Manor with Bruce. He wondered if his friend had caught on to Galavan’s deceit yet, and if he was all right. Growing increasingly frustrated with the fact that he had no way to tell Bruce everything he knew, no way to warn him of the imminent danger that was surrounding him, he would often come close to tears, but then would throw a resentful glance at the sleeping Jerome and promise himself he wouldn’t break down like that, not here, and not when he knew his brother would find out and taunt him for it. 

Even now, he had to maintain a shred of dignity if he didn’t want to lose his mind entirely.

Tonight, though, his nerves were so tightly wound that he couldn’t stop shaking, and he held onto the knife so tightly his fingers had gone numb. _You’ve got to do this. Think about it. It’s not just for you._

_It’s for Bruce._

_You have to do it for Bruce._

He took a hesitant step toward Jerome’s sleeping figure, freezing as the floorboards creaked beneath him. His twin didn’t stir, and he crept closer with bated breath, adrenaline and fear rushing through his body sickeningly, his eyes wide and frightened.

_You’re really going to kill him?  
Your own brother?_

He shook his head at his own thoughts. _No. Don’t do that. Don’t make it like that. He hates me, he’s the one who tried to kill me, if I don’t do anything about this then he_ will _kill me, no matter what._

_He’s my brother, but we’re not family. We never have been._

But there was some small part of his mind that argued against it, the part that forced long-forgotten memories to resurface in a sudden wave, mental snapshots of the two of them when they were younger; when they had snuck into the corner of the main tent together to watch the circus performers every night, hiding from their mother together when she came back to the trailer more drunk than usual, Jerome whispering jokes to his twin in the middle of the night to cheer him up after they’d gotten in trouble. 

How they had been happy once, long ago, before Jerome’s jokes began to grow less funny and more bloodthirsty, before he’d brought dead animals to show Jeremiah, who pushed him away, scared, and ran off every time.How he would interrupt Jeremiah whenever he tried to work on his mazes or read a book, and how the latter would turn his back on him or shut himself in their room. And finally, how Jerome eventually truly tried to kill him, the way the edge of the knife had dug into his throat and how Jeremiah had been so utterly certain he was about to die then and there, only ten years old, before their uncle came in and found out. 

Maybe they had been family once, a long time ago, he admitted to himself reluctantly, but that time was gone.

And it didn’t make any difference now.

_He tried to kill you. This is the only way to make sure he doesn’t do it again._

_Because sooner or later, he really will do it._

Drawing a shuddering breath, Jeremiah realized he was now standing alongside the bed, leaning against one of the posts as the ground rocked beneath him without warning. His head still ached, as it had for the past half a week, but he ignored it as he tried to focus on the task at hand. 

_Just do it. Don’t think about it._

_Please, just do it._

Tears stung his eyes, and his hand holding the knife wavered. Jerome didn’t move, didn’t wake up. There was time, time to rid the world of the menace that was his twin once and for all, a way for him to forever destroy the terror that had haunted him almost ever since he could remember.

But, standing at the edge of the bed, looking down with half-focused, weary eyes that were wide and uncertain in his pale face, he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t kill his brother.

_Why not? He’s tried to kill you before! That’s how you ended up in this situation in the first place, don’t you get that? So why can’t you do it?_

Trying to shut out the thoughts that felt much too loud stuck in his head, Jeremiah closed his eyes for a moment, wishing miserably that he had never come to Gotham in the first place. The city, which he had welcomed as a hideaway from his brother just a few short years ago, now felt like a trap, a cage he was locked in with no key to escape. He hated Gotham, wished he had never set eyes on it, wished, with a surge of bitterness, that someone would burn it to the ground and its existence could be completely eradicated.

_But if you weren’t in Gotham, you wouldn’t have met Bruce._

That derailed his train of thought in an instant, and he opened his eyes, remembering what he had been about to do. As his vision focused, he saw, with a pang of horror, Jerome staring back up at him, one eyebrow raised and a wide smile plastered across his face.

“So were ya gonna wake me up before you killed me or let it be a surprise?”

Jeremiah stumbled back, dropping the knife with nerveless fingers. _Oh God, oh no, why’d you have to wait, you shouldn’t have waited, now he’s gonna…_

Jerome feigned a yawn, sliding off the bed and strolling over to his brother. “I like your style, kiddo. Reminds me of myself, but a little less flair and little more self-doubt.” His grin widened.

_No, not like you, never like you, you’re wrong._

“You’ll need some more practice to get good enough to actually commit to the act, though. I mean, what’s the point of hanging over someone in the middle of their nap with a knife if you ain’t gonna cut their throat or whatever?” Stooping to retrieve the knife in question, Jerome tilted his head. “Ya know?”

“I…I was…”

“Ah, save it. If you’re gonna lie to me, at least try to make it believable.” He backed Jeremiah up against the wall, gesturing at his face with the knife. “Now look. I’m all for livin’ on the edge, are I’m sure you are aware. But you know I can’t let you lurk around with sharp objects in the dark, not when I want a good night’s sleep.”

Jeremiah stared back, hoping he didn’t look as scared as he felt. “Well, you don’t have many other options, unfortunately.” 

“Ooh, feisty. That’s the Miah I like to see. But also, it’s about two in the morning, which is way past my bedtime, and as much as I love ya,” he patted Jeremiah on the side of the face with the flat edge of the knife and his twin jerked away, “I’d rather save this conversation for another time.”

“So that’s it?” Jeremiah asked warily as Jerome turned his back on him and tossed the knife into the recesses of the closet. “That’s all you’re gonna do?”

Without warning, Jerome wheeled around and sent a fist flying into his brother’s face. Jeremiah’s head slammed against the wall and his vision blurred into darkness for a moment before his senses rushed back to him. Holding both hands to the side of his face, which was momentarily numb from the impact, he breathed shakily, willing himself to stay silent no matter what.

_Don’t ever give in to him. You’re better than that._

“There, happy now?” Jerome asked with a smirk. “Also, no, I’m not stupid, and I’m not gonna let you roam around here and try to kill me. Maybe we can do it again some other time, but not tonight.” He crossed the room and opened the door, gesturing for Jeremiah to follow him. “Over here.”

His twin hesitated, and Jerome rolled his eyes irately. “Seriously, Miah, unless you want another black eye, you’d better hurry up. I don’t have all night.”

Reluctantly, Jeremiah stepped closer, and Jerome’s arm shot out, his hand latching onto his brother’s wrist in a vise-like grip, pulling him towards the door. “Better keep quiet. These Galavans get pretty crabby when they don’t get enough sleep.”

Knowing it was useless to resist, Jeremiah followed him to the front door of the penthouse, which, he noticed for the first time, had a keypad alongside it. Jerome glanced back at him.

“No peeking or I’ll cut your eyes out.” He typed in a four-number code and the lock clicked open, the door swinging on its hinges silently. He dragged Jeremiah out into the hall and to a door reading “Emergency Exit.” A paper sign was taped beneath it reading “Stairs are broken, use alternate route.” Jerome pushed open the door and started down the badly lit flight of stairs, which were clearly not broken at all. Jeremiah wondered if Galavan had put up the sign to ensure a clear escape route should he ever need it. 

“While we have this time together,” Jerome said over his shoulder, keeping a tight grasp on his brother’s arm, “I’d like to make one thing clear. You’re more than welcome to try to kill me—makes life more fun—but just for the sake of fairness, if I catch you doing it, you’ll wish you were dead soon after. Got it?” He smiled. “That’s what we call justice.”

Jeremiah didn’t answer, more distracted by the pain that was quickly blossoming in his face where Jerome had hit him, but he did notice the staircase was getting darker and narrower, and when they reached the bottom, there was a door with a “Storage Entrance—Stay Out” sign hung up beside it. It opened with a creak when Jerome pushed it aside, and the warehouse-like room on the other side was dark and abandoned, empty crates covered in tarps stacked high like sleeping giants, murky light from street lamps shining through the narrow slits of windows on the loading dock doors. 

“Homey, isn’t it?” Jerome chirped, dragging his twin to the other side of the large room, kicking aside splintered wood beams and rusted metal poles. “Don’t worry, I’ll come back for you in the morning, and we’ll have more fun then. But for now,” Jeremiah saw the shadowy outline of what looked like prison bars in the corner, and heard a clink of a keyring as his brother lifted one from a hook on the wall, “I’d like to introduce you to your nightly lodgings. Complete with company.” 

Jeremiah shrank away, realizing what Jerome was saying. The cell suddenly looked much darker and smaller, and the mention of “company” was enough to make him try to disentangle himself from his twin’s grip and run away as far as he could…doubtless there was some heinous criminal or madman locked in there as well, and his heart felt like it would beat out of his chest in fear. _Please, Jerome, please don’t, I promise I won’t do it anymore, I’ll leave you alone, just don’t put me in there, don’t, it’s so dark and I hate the dark and there’s someone else inside…_

Ignoring his brother’s increasingly panicked state, Jerome swung open the cell door and motioned for him to step inside. Jeremiah shook his head, staring at his twin with pleading eyes, his hands still clasped to the side of his face to stave off the pain. “Please, I won’t try to kill you, I won’t do _anything,_ Jerome.” His words broke off into a sob, and Jerome scoffed.

“Ew. You know I hate it when you get all teary. And nope, I don’t have time to listen to you, I need my beauty sleep. Can’t get a gorgeous face like this on accident. Adios.” He shoved him into the cell, slamming the door behind him, turning the key in the lock. Jeremiah reached through the bars, trying desperately to snatch the key from his grasp, and Jerome bounded back, waving it playfully over his head.

“Well _someone’s_ feeling braver than usual tonight. But don’t worry, I’ll cure you of that soon enough.” He hung the keys up on the hook again and tossed a mock salute at Jeremiah. “See ya, kid.”

Jeremiah clung onto the bars, watching desperately as Jerome spun around and disappeared into the darkness, whistling a cheerful melody. He froze as he heard a faint sound behind him, a whisper of movement, and his breath caught in his throat.

_Don’t be scared, Bruce wouldn’t be scared, just don't say anything and maybe they’ll leave you alone, please, please just leave me alone…_

Unable to bear the thought of some sort of unseen lunatic locked in the cell with him, Jeremiah turned around slowly, realizing how badly every muscle in his body was aching, and how his face burned with pain. He heard the sound again, like the rustle of fabric, and in the faint light that came from the streets outside, he saw the outline of someone sitting in the far corner of the tiny room. Paralyzed with fear, he didn’t speak, and the figure shuffled closer to him.

“Have you come to save me?” 

Jeremiah’s eyes widened in surprise and overwhelming relief. Instead of the voice of a ragingly insane criminal (whatever _that_ was supposed to sound like) it was the voice of an old woman, heavily accented and entirely unthreatening. He collapsed against the bars, an involuntary, trembling laugh slipping from between his lips. 

He could see the other person now, and it _was_ an old woman (for a moment he had wondered if he was hallucinating, the whole thing seemed so ridiculous), looking at him with a combination of trepidation and curiosity. Jeremiah gave her a faint, incredulous smile, remembering how to breathe again.

_She asked you a question._

“I…” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat and tried again. “No, I…they’ve just locked me in here too.” He shook his head, sending tendrils of pain through his entire face where Jerome had hit him, and blinked. “Wh-why are you here?”

“I don’t know.” She came closer, looking at him with concern wrinkling her forehead. “Poor boy, what did they do to you?” She reached up to cup his face with one hand and he instinctively flinched. But her touch was gentle and he relaxed a moment later, feeling most of adrenaline begin to dissipate. He leaned back against the bars, resting his head on the cold metal, and closed his eyes for a moment to try and push away the lightheadedness that wouldn’t go away. He’d left his glasses back in the penthouse, set them carefully in the corner before he’d even considered picking up the knife Jerome had left out, and the world was blurry enough without them…it wasn’t helping that, on top of that, everything wouldn’t stop spinning.

“I’m okay.” he murmured, knowing it was one of the most blatantly untrue things he had ever said before, but not wanting to elaborate. “He put me in here because I…” His voice wavered and he trailed off, placing all his focus on staying conscious at this point. The old woman nodded understandingly.

“That other boy, the one who brought you here?” She tilted her head, looking critically at Jeremiah. “He looked like you.”

He smiled humorlessly, opening his eyes the slightest amount. _That’s always how it goes, isn’t it? They never see the difference between you. To everyone else, you’re the same, you’re just like him, and you’ll never escape that. Never, because everyone in Gotham knows Jerome, and there’ll never be a way to avoid the connection._

_Even if you get out of here alive, you’ll never be free. He’ll always be a part of you, no matter what you do. Always._

His voice was soft, almost inaudible as he responded, his eyes falling shut again with the sheer exhaustion that came from too many sleepless nights and constantly shaken nerves.

“He’s my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so for some reason I've always wanted to see Gertrud and Jeremiah meet...maybe cause I want him to have a mother figure in his life and I feel like she'd be great at that. So this is basically just a heckin ton of self-indulgent plot at this point but oh well hope ya like it XD


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

 

Galavan laced his fingers together, looking intently at Bruce as he sat at his desk in the penthouse. “I’d like to make you an offer.”

Bruce shifted back and forth from one foot to the other, looking around the room to avoid the man’s stare. Alfred’s words from the day before had been playing on repeat in his mind, the implications slowly setting in. He’d began to realize, no matter what Galavan’s intentions, the man could very well be positioning himself to ask for ownership of Wayne Enterprises. The things he’d said when they’d met previously, the way he’s subtly slipped suggestions into conversation about how Bruce didn’t need to shoulder so much responsibility…the signs were all there.

Bruce couldn’t resign himself to the belief that Galavan was _purposefully_ trying to manipulate him into giving up his company, but after listening to Alfred, he’d been on his guard. When the businessman had invited him to his penthouse the next day for the first time, claiming that he had some things he wanted to discuss, Bruce had almost refused, not wanting to come into conflict with the man who had shown him nothing but kindness. 

And besides, he was Silver’s uncle. Although she hadn’t been around the manor recently, he still considered her a friend, and would hate to break that bond over a falling-out with her guardian.

But of course, he couldn’t decline the invitation, not without sounding rude, so Alfred had driven him to the apartment that morning, reminding him as he stepped out of the car to not make any deals with the man regarding his family’s company. Bruce had nodded wordlessly, beginning to wish again he hadn’t even been involved with Wayne Enterprises in the first place. It had become the source of too much conflict in his life, but if Alfred was right, he couldn’t hand it over to anyone. 

It was his responsibility.

“This offer,” Galavan was saying, and Bruce looked hesitantly at him. “is something I’ve been thinking about for a little while now, and while I don’t want to sound as if I allow sentiment to direct my decisions, it’s truly born out of my sympathy toward you on the terrible things that you have endured lately. I know we discussed this a few days ago at the manor, what with you feeling overwhelmed with the demands of your company and such, and I’ve done some serious thinking on the matter.”

_So Alfred was right. He is going to ask._

Part of Bruce had wanted to tell the butler that he would have been more than happy to let Galavan take the reins in the business…he was experienced, honest, and trustworthy in Bruce’s eyes, and if anyone was to take over for him, it would be the man who had treated him as an intellectual equal and friend over the past month. 

But he hadn’t been able to shake one thing Alfred had said, even if it had simply been a passing remark.

_That’s not what your father did, and it’s not what you should do._

Bruce, who had worked so intently for the past several months to expose the corruption he knew his father would have condemned, had he still been alive, knew he couldn’t ignore that.

“Of course, this isn’t something I want to pressure you about, and I have the utmost belief in your own capabilities as the figurehead of Wayne Enterprises, so take what I am about to say with that in mind.” Galavan preluded his next words, and Bruce broke in, trying to forestall any further explanation.

“You want to buy the company.”

Galavan blinked, and for a split second he looked utterly taken aback. Then his features composed themselves again and he smiled smoothly.

“In a nutshell, I suppose you could say that. I don’t like to see you being so manipulated by your elders because of the title that comes along with your family heritage. I’m only thinking of you when I say this, as you know, Bruce, but I do think we could work something out.”

Bruce shook his head, with no little amount of regret. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” His voice was firm, although he would rather have disappeared into the floor than get into an argument with the man who had been so endlessly generous and kind to him. Galavan’s smile wavered.

“What did you say?”

“I can’t give you the company.”

“Bruce, I’m not asking you to give it all up, you know. Simply let me take the reins and…”

“I’m really sorry, but it’s not something I can consider.” he said quietly, feeling worse than ever. _This stupid company better pay off someday, with all the trouble it’s giving me._ “It’s part of my family’s legacy, and I have a duty to maintain it myself.”

“Then can we come to an agreement, perhaps? I could purchase the company rights, and when you feel you are old enough and have the mental stamina to take on those responsibilities, you could resume control. It could be as simple as that.”

It was a tempting offer, made more agreeable by the recent events of the past week. For a moment, Bruce considered the man’s words, turning over the possibility in his head, wondering if that could really be so bad after all. It would mean almost guaranteed safety for his friends, and no burden for him whatsoever. 

_You could be free of it all for a little while._

“No.” he answered quickly, before he could begin to reconsider. He’d made the final decision on the matter and, no matter what anyone said, he wasn’t going to back down. 

Galavan’s expression darkened for a moment and he stood up slowly. “Is that all you have to say about it?”

He nodded, not liking the cold gleam in the man’s eyes. For once, he didn’t look like the kind soul who had cared so deeply about the troubles in Bruce’s life. 

He didn’t look like that man at all.

“I can’t sell it. My parents worked hard to build up the company, and with the family name being so valuable to the city, I can’t hand it over.”

“Yes, typical of the Waynes to ensure their notoriety even in these times.” he muttered, and Bruce frowned.

“What do you mean?”

Instead of answering, Galavan sighed. “I’d thought you would see things reasonably.”

Growing irritated at the man’s patronizing manner, Bruce shrugged. “I think it’s reasonable enough. It’s my responsibility to my family.”

“And I suppose you think your family is the reason this city is still standing today?” There was a venom in his voice now, and the darkness in his expression made his eyes look almost black. Bruce took a step away from him.

“I didn’t say that…I mean, they helped make Gotham what it is, obviously, and built it up over the years…”

“Oh yes, the infallible, all-powerful Waynes.”

“I’m only saying I can’t give away my company. Not even temporarily. It’s just not something I can do right now. I’m sorry.”

Galavan was silent for a long moment, staring Bruce down with those dangerously dark eyes, then he shook his head regretfully.

“Really, Bruce, I wish it hadn’t had to come to this.”

 

\+ + + + + + + +

 

“Hey, bro, guess what?” Jerome ran his knuckles along the edges of the cell bars, and Jeremiah looked up from where he was sitting in the corner alongside the old woman, whose name, he’d learned, was Gertrud Kapelput. The rest of the night had been quiet, and although he hated small spaces like this (he wouldn’t call it claustrophobia, but it was something close to that) it was better than sharing a room with his homicidal maniac brother.

“What?” he responded quietly, knowing the safest route in a conversation with Jerome was to listen rather than say anything himself. 

Jerome, however, didn’t seem to want to play by those rules at the moment. “I want you to guess.” he insisted, leaning his forehead against the bars and peering in. Jeremiah almost rolled his eyes, surprising himself at how he didn’t feel so afraid of his twin as he usually did…maybe it was the illusion of being locked away from him; even if part of his brain knew Jerome had the keys to the cell and could easily get in if he wanted, there was the pretense of safety that veiled the significantly less pleasant reality. 

“I don't know.”

“Seriously? You’re not gonna play? You’re gonna make me come in there and get an answer out of you?” Jerome rattled the bars threateningly, and Jeremiah cringed instinctively.

“Okay, fine. I’ll guess.” he said hurriedly.

“Who do you think Galavan has just invited to his fancy-pants apartment up there?” Jerome gestured vaguely at the ceiling of the warehouse, a broad grin on his face. “I’ll give ya a hint. It’s my favorite volunteer from my magician days.”

Jeremiah’s eyes grew wide with shock as he stared at Jerome. For a moment he couldn’t speak, and when he did find his voice, it was no more than a whisper.

“You’re lying.”

“I am not. I never lie.”

“Bruce…is here?” he asked hesitantly, feeling like the world was about to collapse around him. Jerome nodded vigorously, twining his fingers around the bars.

“The legend himself. I was almost gonna ask for him to write his name on my hand and get it tattooed on, but Galavan said no.” He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “My only chance for a celebrity autograph and it’s ruined.”

“Why…why is he here?” Acute worry filled his senses and he stared pleadingly at Jerome for answers.

“Oh, Galavan’s tryin’ to get him to sell the company. But get this,” Jerome leaned in closer, his eyes wide and glittering, “I was listening at the door, as you do, and I heard Brucie say he wasn’t gonna give it up. Boy, Theo sounded mad.”

That was enough to force Jeremiah to his feet and confront his brother on the other side of the bars, his own eyes flashing in sudden anger. “What’s he going to do to him?”

Jerome shrugged nonchalantly. “How should I know? No one ever lets me in on their plans.”

“He’s going to tell Bruce about you.” another voice from the darkness spoke, and Jeremiah looked over his brother’s shoulder to see Tabitha materialize out of nowhere. She flipped her hair out of her face and crossed her arms. “Tell him if he tries to rescue you or call the police, then he’ll kill you on the spot. But if he sells him the company, then you go free.”

“Obviously that part’s a lie,” Jerome giggled, winking at his twin, “because the next step in Theo’s plan is to kill Brucie himself. Gotta lure him to his fancy-ass apartment, probably by threatening to kill _you,_ then boom, another dead Wayne. They’re dropping like flies at this rate.”

Shocked, Jeremiah turned to Tabitha as if silently begging her to deny Jerome’s words, but she only shrugged one shoulder. “That’s the goal. Theo’s kind of into being dramatic, which is why he won’t outright kidnap the kid and call it a day. Doesn’t want to overshadow his good PR he’s gonna get when he runs for mayor or whatever with news about a missing billionaire. Though how he’s going to cover up another _dead_ billionaire is beyond me, but that’s his problem.”

“He’s running for mayor?” Jerome echoed, and Tabitha nodded disinterestedly. Jerome sighed melodramatically. “See? No one ever tells me anything.”

“You can’t do that.” Jeremiah said breathlessly, feeling like someone had just punched him in the stomach. Jerome laughed at that.

“Aw fish sticks, ya hear that, Tabby? Miah here says we can’t kill Brucie. Guess we’ve gotta call the whole thing off.” He feigned an exaggerated pout, and Tabitha rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know how anyone can stand to be around you for more than five minutes.” she commented, standing up from the crate where she’d been sitting. “You’re like a two-year-old on cocaine.”

“Wow, I’m crushed.” He batted his eyes at her retreating back as she stalked away. “I’ll have you know I never even _touched_ cocaine until I was twelve. And that was because someone told me it was Pixie Stick dust.” 

Tabitha ignored him, and the warehouse door slammed shut behind her a moment later. Jerome turned back to his brother. “Never forget those fun times, right?”

“You can’t let him kill Bruce.” he said desperately, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t let him do that.”

Jerome surveyed him with one eyebrow raised. “Hell no, I love a good staged murder. I mean, I was _in_ one. As the murderee, no less.”

The part of his mind that insisted on noticing the details of everything murmured that “murderee” wasn’t a word, but Jeremiah wasn’t going to waste breath correcting his brother’s vocabulary, not when his best friend’s life was in danger. “Jerome, he didn’t do anything _wrong.”_

“I’ll admit I’m a little confused as to why Theo wants to kill _him,_ but hey, who am I to question a fun time?”

“Jerome…”

“And the best part is,” Jerome continued, ignoring his brother’s pleas, “that’s when _I_ get to kill _you._ Once Theo’s done using you as bait for little old Brucie, it’s curtains for you.”

Whatever fear Jeremiah had for his own life was swallowed up in the all-consuming worry for Bruce. When he didn’t react to Jerome’s comment, the other redhead frowned, displeased.

“This is the part where you get scared.” he added, and when Jeremiah still didn’t say anything, his eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re growing a spine _now,_ just when the party’s getting started. There’s no fun in that.”

Jeremiah blinked, not really listening to his brother’s words. “Can you _please_ ask him to not do it?” he begged, knowing how pitiful he sounded, but willing to do anything if it meant Bruce could be safe. Jerome’s lip curled in disgust.

“Seriously, you haven’t got a shred of self-respect, Miah. I don’t know what that kid sees in you. If _I_ were him, I wouldn’t bother hanging out with you any more than I’d stand in the gutter in the middle of a rainstorm. You’d think a billionaire would buy himself some friends who had at least a redeeming trait or two, but who knows, maybe that’s a turn-on for him.”

Jeremiah glared at his twin. “That’s a bold statement coming from someone who’s never spoken a valuable sentence in their entire life.” he retorted sharply, and Jerome’s grin widened.

“Hey, would you look at that, there’s the Miah I remember. Maybe I should skin a mouse or three and then it’ll really be like the good ol’ days, hmm?”

“You can’t let Galavan kill Bruce.”

“I can and I will. The sooner your pal’s out of the picture, the sooner I get you all to myself. Lighten up, won’t you? It’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

_But it is. Without Bruce, what’s the point of anything? He’s the only one who really understands…the only one who cares…there isn’t anything without him, and if Galavan gets his way…_

Seeing the distraught look on his brother’s face, Jerome laughed again. “Jeez, someone’s obsessed. Anyway, I’m not sitting around this dump any longer, but I’ll be back for ya later once Brucie’s gone and Theo lets me back into the apartment. Catch you later!” He gave the cell bars on final swipe, making them rattle, then skipped off into the darkness. Jeremiah watched him disappear helplessly, turning his gaze to the key ring on the opposite wall as if he could somehow will them over to him.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he almost forgot he wasn’t alone, and jumped in surprise when Gertrud spoke up. “What a disaster this whole thing is.” 

His shoulders slumped as he turned around to face her, rubbing the backs of his hands over his eyes tiredly and wishing for the umpteenth time that this was all some sort of wildly realistic nightmare he would wake up from soon. It felt like a nightmare…nothing ever got better, and every word of news he heard only served to deepen his fear and uncertainty of his future.

Freedom, and even staying _alive_ at this point, seemed further away than ever, like specks of light in the darkness too far off to reach, no matter how hard he tried.

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

“What do you mean, come to this?” Bruce asked uncertainly, his brow furrowing as Galavan continued to look at him with that patronizing, superior gaze.

“If you had only taken my advice and followed my lead, none of this would have had to happen. But sometimes the original plan isn’t… _impactful…_ enough, and different measures must be taken.”

“I don’t understand.” 

“Would it shock you to know,” Galavan continued, toying with an engraved letter opener on his desk, “that I happen to be aware where your friend is at this very moment?”

Bruce’s eyes widened. “Jeremiah?”

“Have you any other missing friends that I haven’t heard about?” he asked with thinly veiled sarcasm.

“You know where he is?” Bruce echoed, staring at the man in confusion and wariness. Galavan nodded slowly.

“I do. Would you like to take a guess as to _how_ I know where he is and, as a matter of fact, have known ever since the day he went missing after I asked to meet with him?” He gave Bruce a dangerous smile, and the latter surveyed him cautiously.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You should, it’s very simple. I’m surprised you didn’t work it out earlier. Silver told me about your other little friend, Selina Kyle, is it? She caught on much faster than we’d hoped for, so it was fortunate you sent her away.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand. What does Silver have to do with…” He trailed off, horror filling his eyes as realization swept over him. Galavan nodded placidly.

“Before you try to run off and alert anyone of this news, I’d like to remind you that, if you say a single word to the police or any authorities whatsoever, I will not hesitate to kill him. In fact,” he smiled faintly, “his brother would be more than happy to do the job himself.”

“Jerome?” Bruce’s voice wavered, and his mind had gone blank. Everything that had been happening in the past weeks…the meetings with Galavan…Silver…maybe even as far back as the charity ball…it was all crashing down in its illusion around him, leaving him shaken and confused.

“Oh yes, I forgot to mention that he isn’t dead.” Galavan said airily. 

“He’s not _dead?”_

“And eager as anything to end Jeremiah’s life for good. So if you care about your friend, I’d suggest _not_ calling the police.”

“Why…why did you do this?” Bruce stammered, dazed with the shock of it all. Galavan sighed long-sufferingly. 

“Well, first and foremost, I need your company. And since you weren’t willing to sell it to me, I am not against using a bit of leverage. There are…other matters, as well, but I’d like to address this one before anything else. Your company is very important to me, as you can tell, otherwise I wouldn’t have gone through this trouble.”

“But why Jeremiah?” He shook his head. “He doesn’t deserve this. You can’t hurt my friend to get to _me_.”

“Firstly, yes I can, and I will. So if I were you, I wouldn’t wait around to make the decision on Wayne Enterprises. And secondly, who else was I supposed to take? The boy has no known living relatives, no past, no traceable history…it’s like he doesn’t exist. No one will notice if he simply disappears from the face of the earth. Except you, of course.”

“How do you know all that?” he asked blankly, still shaken to the core at these revelations that were flying fast and thick.

“Oh, from Silver, of course. Like I said, your friend Selina seemed to discover what was going on, even if she didn’t know _what_ she knew, and we were all worried for a little while there. But I found out everything I needed to know.”

“Selina was right.” Bruce murmured, mostly to himself.

“Now,” Galavan said conversationally, crossing the room and opening the front door, “I’ll give you some time to collect whatever papers and such you would need to sign your company over to me, and then we’ll discuss you getting your friend back. Remember, no police, or he’ll be dead by the time they arrive.” Shaken, Bruce followed him mutely to the door.“I’ll be generous and grant you a week or so to organize what you need, but the longer you delay, the less pleasant an experience it will be for Jeremiah.” He ushered Bruce out the door. “Keep that in mind.”

“I’m willing to work something out,” Bruce tried, his mind racing to try and process everything that was happening, “just please let him go. This isn’t about him.”

“Oh, but the only way to get you to do what I want is to jeopardize something you truly care about.” Galavan said softly, tapping his fingers on the doorframe as he spoke. “So really, this has to do with him quite a bit.”

Numbly, Bruce descended the stairs and stepped out into the front parking lot of the apartment complex. Alfred, who had been waiting in the car, drove up, his features lining with concern when he saw the look on Bruce’s face.

“What happened? Is something wrong?” he asked quickly as the boy climbed wordlessly into the car, staring straight ahead as if he hadn’t even heard. The butler had seen that expression one time before; the night he’d arrived in the alley shortly after his former employers had been shot to their deaths. It was the look of pure disbelief, a disenchantment with everything he’d known to be true. Alfred tried again. “Master B., what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Did Galavan try to make you an offer about the company?”

“It’s him.” Bruce said suddenly, casting a tortured glance at the butler in the rear-view mirror as the car pulled out into the traffic of the main road. “It’s Galavan.” He drew a shuddering breath, as if he himself could barely believe the words he spoke next, his voice shaking with a combination of worry and horror.

“He has Jeremiah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, the thing with Jerome mixing up crack and pixie stick dust is partly inspired from me being stupid at prom once and pretending to snort lines of pixie stick dust because I'm classy like that


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

 

“Selina,” Bruce stood in the doorway of the abandoned apartment his friend had taken up residence in, twisting his hands together with a mixture of nervousness and regret, “you were right.”

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, curled up in a window seat overlooking the city skyline. “What are you doing back here?” Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait, what did you say?”

He took a deep breath. “I said you were right.” 

“About what?” she asked suspiciously, and Bruce stared at the floor.

“About everything. Silver, and the things you said about her, and…”

“Uh, yeah, no _shit_.” she leapt to her feet, her eyes flashing as she tossed her hair out of her face. “ _Now_ will you start believing me when I try to warn you about those things?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, and even more sorry that I…well, that I left you behind when I met Silver. And if I’d have listened to you, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Selina frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Galavan…” He broke off, still not fully believing it himself. The news had come like a bombshell, and the shock of it all hadn’t worn off yet, not even a day after. He’d gone back to the manor with Alfred, where the butler, equally shaken by the information, had advised him to wait a day before thinking about any further decisions. Bruce had begged him to call the police, but Alfred had said they couldn’t take that risk, not after Galavan had warned them against it, and there was nothing else he could do. The next morning, Bruce had decided to see Selina straightaway to let her know what had happened, as well as ask for advice.

He knew she might be even more angry at him, but it was a chance he was willing to take.

“Galavan what?” she asked sharply, and Bruce realized he hadn’t finished what he had been about to say. 

“He’s the one doing all this. He’s got Jeremiah, and he wants me to sell him my company in exchange. And if I do anything else, he’s…he’s going to kill him.” His voice wavered, and the words poured out in a rush before he could stop himself. Selina’s eyes widened, then her look of incredulity turned to a glare.

“I’ll _murder_ him, the lying…”

“Selina, listen. The thing is, I don’t know what I can do that doesn’t involve giving up Wayne Enterprises. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I knew that I owned that company at the price of losing one of my friends. I couldn’t do that.”

“I _told_ you.” she snapped, not listening to what he was saying. “I told you from the beginning something was wrong, and you didn’t listen to me. You didn’t believe anything I said, and look where that’s got you.”

“I said I was sorry…”

“Yeah, and that’s gonna do you a lot of good now, isn’t it?” she retorted bitingly. “You screwed up, Bruce, and if you’re here to ask me for help by pretending to apologize, then don’t bother.”

“Selina, I’m not _pretending,_ I really…”

“Because it sure seems like you’re pretending. You want something from me, don’t you, because you were stupid enough to get _our_ friend caught by people who are gonna kill him soon enough, and since you can’t think of anything to do, you’re coming to me for help. Right?”

“No, that’s not…”

“Save it.” She held up a hand. “You think I’m dumb enough to accept the idea of you spending all your time with that two-faced chick and thinking she’s like the best thing in the world and then when you realize she’s actually the worst, you come crawling back to me because you have no one else? I’m not an idiot, Bruce. You pushed me away, and you’re only coming back because you need something. There can’t be another reason, so don’t try to make one.”

“I was wrong.” he said desperately, trying to convince her. “I didn’t realize I was ignoring you, I just…look, Selina, I promise that isn’t what I’m doing. I know I can’t make you believe it, but it’s true. I just needed to tell you. I needed to tell _someone._ ”

She turned back to the window, shaking her head. “So what’re you going to do?”

“I don’t…I haven’t figured it out yet. I mean, I have to find a way to get Jeremiah out of there before…” He trailed off, looking up at her desperately, but she was still turned away from him.

“I told you,” she said again, quieter this time, “and you didn’t listen. Even when I knew something was wrong.”

“Selina…”

“What are you going to do about the company?” she asked suddenly, still not looking at him. Bruce shook his head defeatedly.

“There’s got to be some way around all this. I know there is, I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.”

“Well, that’s a pretty optimistic view of things, considering you can’t even go the police for help.” she muttered.

“There has to be something. I don’t know what Galavan wants, or why he’s trying to get my company from me, but I’ll find some way to take him down.”

“Huh.” She didn’t sound impressed, and Bruce’s face fell even more. 

“I’m trying my best, okay? I’m _trying_ to figure it all out, it’s just…difficult.” His words ended in a sigh.

“Look, Bruce, if you need me to help you with whatever plan thing you eventually come up with, then fine. I’ll do it. Not because I’m done being mad at you about not listening to me at all and putting Jeremiah in danger because of that,” she shot him an accusing glance over her shoulder, “because I’m not. I’m only offering because he’s my friend too, and my options are either help save him or brutally murder anyone who hurts him, and option one seems the easiest, so there you go.” 

“Thanks.” he said quietly, and she rolled her eyes at his reflection in the window. 

“Don’t. I’m not doing it for you. I just said that. So get out, and if you finally work out some sort of idea, tell me. But don’t try to apologize again, because it’s a waste of time when there are more important things to think about. If I hear you say you’re sorry again, I will personally throw you down the stairs.”

“Okay.” he said, subdued. He turned away to go, then paused. “You’ll be here if I need to find you?”

“Where else would I be, stupid?”

“I mean, you’re always welcome at the manor…”

“Weird as this may sound to you, I actually enjoy staying in my own place rather than your house.”

Bruce sighed. “I’m sorry.”

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “I literally _just_ said—"

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” He held up his hands, stepping backward out the door. “I’ll let you know if I figure something out.”

“Yeah.” she murmured, resting her chin on her drawn-up knees and returning her stare to the city outside. “You’d better figure something out.”

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

“He’s my brother,” Jeremiah finished quietly, having just told Gertrud nearly everything about his life up until this point, having nothing better to do, “but it hasn't felt like that in years.”

She patted his shoulder gently, and he gave her a half-smile. For a moment, he considered with some bitterness that she was probably a good mother to whatever children she had…better than _his,_ at any rate.

Then again, Lila Valeska hadn’t set a very high bar for the standard of what a mother should be, so he didn’t exactly have much to go off of in his judgement.

“We _used_ to be friends,” he added, his tone growing softer as his mind traveled back to those forgotten years, “but things started to change and I started to realize who he really was.”

“And who is that?” Gertrud, who Jeremiah had discovered was the perfect person to vent to, since she listened intently and rarely spoke, asked. He looked down at the floor.

“A killer.” he said softly. “And he wanted me to be one, too. He didn’t want to be alone.” Shuddering, he closed his eyes. “When I said I wouldn’t ever become like him, that’s when he began trying to murder me.”  
“Why does he like to kill?” Her heavily accented voice was completely attentive, as if Jeremiah was saying the most interesting thing in the world rather than reminiscing over unpleasant childhood memories. The latter shrugged.

“He thinks it’s fun. I don’t know. He’s insane, likes to see things suffer, and I guess when he realized it he…just went ahead and did it.” His mouth twisted to the side. “He killed our mother.”

Her eyes widened. “Your mother?” she echoed.

“After I left the circus. It was only last year. I didn’t hear about it until my uncle wrote to me to let me know. She…she wasn’t a very good mother,” he admitted with some reluctance, not because he was afraid to speak ill of the dead, but because he didn’t want Gertrud to get the wrong impression on his feelings regarding the matter, “but she didn’t deserve to be killed. No one deserves that.”

“And now he comes after you.” she finished, and Jeremiah flinched. 

“Yes. He’s obsessed with trying to kill me. The only reason he hasn’t yet is because of Galavan’s plan.” The cell suddenly felt much smaller, as if the walls were closing in on him, and reality began setting back in, having been pushed aside as he’d been thinking about years gone by. 

_Jerome is going to kill you._

There was something in him that couldn’t quite accept that, something that brushed over that eventuality with a sort of passing carelessness, perhaps a defense mechanism to keep him from breaking down completely at the thought. All the years he’d worked to avoid this, all gone to waste. 

_He_ wasn’t the one who was evil, the one who had killed countless innocents and terrorized the city, and he wasn’t the one who was going to be remembered.

The thought came with a stab of anger. Injustice, even. _Jerome’s just a loose screw. He has nothing to offer the world except madness and destruction. But he’s the one on all the front pages, the news reports, the talk around the dinner table. He’s the one people will never forget, the one who will always be known as the lunatic who brought the city to its knees._

_He doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve any of it._

It wasn’t that Jeremiah wanted to be remembered for anything Jerome had been…the very thought of being anything like his twin was horrifying. But there was the whisper in the back of his mind that insisted that _he_ shouldn’t be the forgotten one, the nameless throwaway who wouldn’t be remembered by anyone after he invariably died at the hand of his insane brother. He’d even _helped_ the city…Thomas Wayne had commissioned _him_ to work on Wayne Plaza.

And yet, he would always be seen just as someone in Jerome’s shadow, if even that. A carbon copy of his brother, a duplicate or an afterthought. He wasn’t asking for fame or notoriety…he didn’t even _want_ something like that.

But he didn’t want to simply fade from existence, never to be thought of again, while his brother’s legacy lived on in Gotham forever. 

It wasn’t fair, and it made his resentment toward Jerome grow even stronger.

“I don’t know where things went wrong.” he said softly, almost to himself. Thinking of Jerome as anything but an enemy to be feared and hidden away from was no more than a distant, faint memory. If there had been a time when they had been friends…and there _had_ been a time like that, as unbelievable as it sounded…there wasn’t even a clear memory of it. He had vague, nondescript flashes of the past that kept themselves somewhere in his mind, but the only memories he could recall in perfect clearness were times when he had been afraid of his twin.

Whoever they had been before…they were gone. They had both changed, adapted to the world around them, with Jerome flourishing as a homicidal lunatic and Jeremiah being forced to hide in constant terror for his own life.

_What’s fair about that? What’s fair about any of this?_

“Why did it have to change?” he murmured, still staring at the floor. Gertrud put her arm around his shoulders comfortingly.

“My son, it is the same with him. He has always been a good boy, but there are times when he does things he should not. Perhaps he does not realize it when he does them, but they happen anyway, and sometimes I wish he could go back to how he was before.” She shook her head. “But I still love him. I will always love him. And he loves me.”

Jeremiah scoffed. “Yeah, well, Jerome’s always hated me ever since I left the circus, and he wouldn’t have the faintest regret if I was dead.” The words came out more harsh than he intended.

“But surely you must love each other somehow…even if you do not know it.”

“Not really. I mean, our family wasn’t exactly one for doting on each other, so that didn’t help.”

“You did not have a happy family?” she asked concernedly, and Jeremiah thought back to the nights when he and Jerome locked themselves into the tiny bedroom of the trailer to avoid their mother’s drunken rages, or the way their uncle could send them crashing into a wall with one swing of his fist if they happened to get on his nerves. 

_Happy family,_ that’s _a laugh._

“No.” In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when his family _had_ been happy. “But it doesn’t matter now. That was a while ago.”

“You have had no one to call family?” she asked, frowning in concern. Jeremiah was surprised at the first thought that leapt to his mid, unbidden, at her question.

_Bruce._

_That’s ridiculous,_ he tried to argue with himself. _Besides, Bruce doesn’t feel the same way. He had a family who loved him. He doesn’t need anyone else. So why would he want anyone else?_

But he couldn’t deny it had been the first thing to cross his mind.

“I have…a friend.” He shook his head. “Not family, really, but I guess he’s closer to something like that than anyone else I know.”

“A brother to you, is he not?”

Jeremiah smiled faintly, humorlessly. _More of a brother than Jerome, at least._ “I guess. He’s all I have.” Guilt rushed through him. _And now he’s in danger because of me._

_I could lose him forever._

_And it would be my fault. My fault for getting caught, for not escaping, for not realizing this whole thing was a scam from the beginning. I’m letting him walk into his death, and it’s my fault if something happens. Because I shouldn’t have ever let my guard down. That’s what got me into this situation in the first place._

_Trusting people. Believing that they can actually be good._

_Should have known better._

“I can’t lose him.” he whispered, shivering. Gertrud cast a glance at him, which Jeremiah didn’t notice as he was absorbed in staring at the floor.

“He will be all right.” she tried to reassure him. “He will find you, just as my Oswald will find me, and we can all be happy again.”

_Happy again. Could we really do that, now? After everything?_

_Is there really any going back from this?_

Before he could ponder the question further, the sound of footsteps broke the silence, and Jerome appeared on the other side of the cell door, a wide grin on his face like always. “Guess Brucie isn’t so great a friend as you thought, Miah.”

He frowned, the declaration causing him to finally look up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s had a full day to turn over his company thingy to Theo, but there hasn’t been a word from the kid. Guess we know what’s more important to him, huh?”

Jeremiah tried not to listen. He knew Bruce was probably working on a plan that wouldn’t involve him sacrificing his family’s company…he _had_ to be, because he was smart, and he could figure things like that out. 

_He’ll fix things soon enough. And then everything will be okay again, no matter what happens._

“Aw, I know it’s disappointing.” Jerome fumbled with the key ring in the dark, finally swinging open the cell door, which screeched on its hinges rustily as it gave way. “But don’t worry, I’ve made a decision. One that will make you forget all about this Bruce business and get to what’s _really_ important.” Jeremiah didn’t move, and Jerome hung the keys back up impatiently. “Come on, I want to tell you what it is. Trust me, it’ll be absolutely killer. One of my greatest plans yet.”

“Congratulations.” Jeremiah replied drily, appreciating the lapse in fear he was feeling against his brother, but knowing full well that he couldn’t chalk it up to courage…it was just him becoming accustomed to the reality of Jerome being around, and knowing there was nothing he could do about it. 

It wasn’t bravery.

There was nothing brave about any of this.

“Well, hurry up.” Jerome raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have all day.” He paused. “I mean, I do, but that’s not the point. I don’t want to wait.” Wordlessly, Jeremiah following him out of the cell, dragging his feet on the ground as they left the dark warehouse and started up the stairs. Whatever Jerome had planned, it wasn’t going to be pleasant. That was a given.

As they approached the door of the penthouse and stepped inside, the instinctive fear that never really left began to grow stronger, and soon enough, Jeremiah found himself trying to hide the tremors in his hands and building uncertainty in his eyes as Jerome ushered him into the familiar room that felt more like a prison than the dark, barred cell in the basement.

Because there, he didn’t have to think about Jerome. He could let his mind pretend, for a little while, at least, that all of this wasn’t happening. He could stop being so tightly wound, could let his nerves relax somewhat, and distract himself from the fact that his brother was somewhere in the same building all the time, just waiting to drag him out.

But here, he could do none of that. Because Jerome was always here, and now he was closing the door and turning around with a smile that Jeremiah had seen when they were younger, the same smile he’d worn when he’d brought dead, mauled animals to his brother, expecting him to laugh at them too, and the same smile that had faded into a disgusted expression when Jeremiah had yelled at him and run off.

_I hate that smile._

“I was thinking something,” Jerome began conversationally, strolling across the room to sit cross-legged on the bed. Jeremiah stood with his back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, trying not to betray the unease he felt. “It came to me the other day, when you, y’know, tried to kill me in my sleep. Nice try with that, by the way. Made me very proud.”

Jeremiah shuddered. That was the last thing he wanted.

“Thinking back,” Jerome continued, “to when you did that, it made me realize. You’ve always said we’re so different, that you’d never be like me, how you and I might be twins, but we’re not even remotely similar aside from the obvious,” he gestured to his face, then Jeremiah’s, “genetic things.”

“Because we _are_ different.” Jeremiah said defensively, eyeing his brother with increasing nervousness. There was something in Jerome’s eyes he didn’t like, a glimmer of triumph he didn’t understand.

Not that he ever understood _anything_ about Jerome.

“Allegedly.” Jerome shrugged, flopping over the edge of the bed until he was hanging off of it upside down, still maintaining eye contact with his brother. “But I beg to differ. Y’see, the other night, you were gonna kill me. That’s not something the usual hostage would even consider.”

Jeremiah narrowed his eyes. “It’s a perfectly normal thought. Especially when you’re being threatened and don’t have any other options.”

“Oh, but you _did_ have other options.” Jerome pointed out. “You could have simply knocked me unconscious, or maybe tied me up so I couldn’t catch you. Plenty of other ways to get me out of the picture, yet you went straight for the kill.”

Jeremiah hesitated. “I don’t know how to fight. You do. That wouldn’t have worked.”

“You’re grasping at straws.” Jerome shook his head, still upside down. “But you know it’s true. Your instinct told you to slit my throat, stab me in the gut, whatever else you could’ve thought of. It told you to _kill,_ and you listened.”

“It’s not like that, I…”

“The thing about you and me that I will admit is different,” Jerome interrupted, unfazed, “is very simple. See, I realize those things, I don’t spend my life denying them or trying to trick myself into thinking I’m sane. I don’t _lie_ to myself, like you do. That’s the only thing we don’t share.”

“I’m not lying to myself.” he said defensively. “This isn’t a question of my sanity. This is you not wanting to be alone. You want company, and you think that because we’re brothers, I’ll end up just like you. Well, I _won’t._ Because we’re not the same, and never were. _I’m_ the one who knows the truth, you’re living in a delusion.” The words were laced with venom, and his brown eyes grew darker. If there was anything Jeremiah hated, it was someone calling into question his mind, his most valuable asset. And Jerome’s claim broke the shield of protection he had constructed around himself, the belief that they _were_ different, that he wouldn’t become like his twin. 

_He’s the one who’s lying._

“You do realize that sounds just like something a crazy person would say.” Jerome said calmly, with maddening logic. “I don’t think you really believe it, anyway. You’re just pretending, to keep yourself safe. But if you could only see what _I_ do, then everything would be so much better!”  
“What does it matter, if you’re going to kill me anyway?” Jeremiah snapped, eyes flashing. “You just want to prove yourself right?”  
“No, I want to prove you _wrong.”_ Jerome corrected him, sliding down off the bed and standing up, brushing off his shirt. “I want the satisfaction of seeing you realize the truth, and _then_ I’ll kill you.”

“I’m not crazy.” Jeremiah insisted staunchly, his voice wavering. “It’s just you, Jerome. It’s always been just you.”

There was something dangerous in Jerome’s eyes at that, then it faded away to the usual laughter that gleamed there with a wild light. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.” he muttered, producing a knife from where he’d stuck it into the back of the armchair, up to the hilt. Jeremiah looked at him narrowly.

“What’re you going to do?”  
“I’m going to make you fight me.” he grinned, and his brother stepped back. “If you don’t fight back, the you bleed out on the floor, and if you do, then I had just as much chance of that fate as you.” He tossed the knife into the air and caught it deftly.

“I don’t know how to fight. I don’t…”

“Improvise.” Jerome laughed, polishing the blade on the hem of his shirt. “When it comes to life or death, instincts can be a very handy thing.”

“But you can’t kill me.” Jeremiah tried desperately, backing away. “Galavan said…” Jerome rolled his eyes.

“Oh, to hell with that. I’m sick of waiting around. I don’t care what happens with him and Brucie, this is between _us.”_ His eyes glittered with an insane brightness. “You’ve always known that, Jeremiah.”

“I’m not fighting you.” 

“Fine by me.” Jerome lunged forward with the knife, and Jeremiah stumbled back, narrowly missing the edge of the blade as it whistled through the air. 

“Jerome, stop.”

“This is your fault.” Jerome said reasonably. “If you’d just been able to admit what I see so clearly, then we wouldn’t have to do this.”

“We’re _not_ the same, we’ve never been the same, and you know it.”

Jerome responded with a swipe of the knife, and Jeremiah gave a strangled gasp as the edge caught his upper arm. A flash of pain crossed his face, his eyes wide and scared, and he clutched at his arm with his other hand, trying to repress the blood flow. “Screw you.”

Jerome laughed delightedly. “Now we’re getting started.”

“We’re _not._ ” his brother shot back from between gritted teeth. “I’m not doing this.”

“Then I guess this is sayonara to you, kiddo.” He leapt at Jeremiah again, and this time the knife sliced right below his collarbone. “I shoulda become a butcher, I’d be great at it, huh?”

“Shut up.” Jeremiah hissed, still retreating from his twin’s attack. His face was pale and his jawline taut, and Jerome rolled his eyes.

“Y’know what’s your problem?”

“Oh, please tell me.” Jeremiah said with sharp sarcasm. 

“You don’t smile enough. You always look so _scared,_ Miah, like someone’s gonna jump out and slit your throat or somethin’.” He paused, considering. “I mean, that’s kinda what’s happening now, so I’ll grant you that, but you know what I mean.”

“So now you’re going to criticize my personality?”

“No, I just think you need to lighten up. It could help you with this whole self-doubt thing you’re struggling with.”

“I don’t have self-doubt.”

“Sure ya do.” He jumped in front of Jeremiah as he tried to sidestep him. “You’re denying who you really are. Sounds like self-doubt to me.”

“You’re insane.” 

“Thank you.” Jerome giggled, closing in on his twin as Jeremiah stumbled back into the corner, his hands flying up in front of his face protectively. “But flattery will get you nowhere.” Without warning, he drew the knife back, then swung it forward. Jeremiah jerked aside, narrowly missing being outright stabbed, but the blade still caught the side of his ribcage and he shut his eyes to block out the pain. Jerome sighed. “It won’t help, you know. Trust me, when I died,” he made air quotes with his free hand, “it wasn’t one of my top ten would-do-again experiences. But you know what made it better?”

Jeremiah shook his head, biting down hard on his lip. Jerome leaned in closer.

“I _laughed.”_ he whispered, as if telling a precious secret. “And that changed everything.”

Jeremiah’s eyes snapped back open, and he glared at his twin. “I don’t _care.”_

“I’m just tryin’ to enlighten ya to the possibilities, bro. You see things the way _you_ want it to be, you hide from the truth. And the truth is, if you just see the funny side of life, maybe you’ll realize who you really are.”

“I know who I am.”

“No, you _don’t._ You only think you know. But believe me, you’ll figure it out soon enough. That’s what this is all about.” Jerome was so close that Jeremiah could feel his breath on his face. “If you just listen to me, then maybe you’ll learn to accept what you _know_ is real.”

“You’re delusional…” Jeremiah whispered, pressing his hand against his side to stem the blood that was staining his shirt, “and you’re…tricking yourself…into believing what _you_ want. And you’re trying to drag me down with you…but I _won’t go.”_

“Oh yes you will.” Jerome replied with pure confidence oozing in his voice. “I know you better than anyone else, Miah, better than that old lady in the basement, better than the butler at the Wayne place, better than your beloved Brucie…I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Go to hell.”

“Already went, it was too boring. But _this…_ this is fun. If you would just _listen_ to me.”

Jeremiah tried to focus his eyes, but the world was spinning and black spots were blurring in his vision. He blinked dazedly, his hand fumbling from where he’d been holding it to his side, and stumbled up against the wall, his breath trembling on his lips. “Just…shut up…Jerome.”

A shadow of displeasure crossed his brother’s face, and he dropped the knife to the ground. It landed between their feet with a sharp thud. Jerome stepped even closer. “Never listening to me, are you? Never did, and never will, I guess. You just don’t want to be proven wrong. You don’t want to realize that you _aren’t_ perfect, you aren’t the golden child everyone adored, you aren’t _better_ than anyone else. Because _I_ wasn’t any of those things, no one ever thought _I_ was good for anything. And you can’t be either, because you and I…” His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “…are bound together. _Identical._ In every way.”

Jeremiah curled his lip at him in distaste, summoning the final ounce of defiance he possessed in his wavering consciousness. “You don’t know that.”

Suddenly Jerome’s hands were around his throat, cutting of his air supply, and Jeremiah’s eyes widened as he grabbed at his brother’s hands, trying to pull away. Jerome shook his head. “Stubborn. Well, you can’t win ‘em all. It’s been fun, but I think this is the end of the line for one of us. And since you didn’t have the guts to take matters into your own hands,” his grip tightened and Jeremiah felt his limbs begin to go numb as darkness started closing in around him in a cold, impenetrable cloud, “then I guess it’s up to me.”

“Jerome, stop.” A new voice broke in, and Jerome whirled around, letting go of his brother, who slid down to the floor, gasping for air. Theo Galavan stood in the doorway of the bedroom, arms crossed, a scowl of displeasure on his face. He took a step inside, and Jerome sighed.

“Great, someone else to ruin the mood.”

“You know we need him.” Galavan’s tone was calm, but there was a warning in his eyes. “I haven’t given you permission to kill him yet.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sick of taking orders from you.” Jerome shot back. “How much longer is the Wayne kid gonna skip around this thing? He gonna give you the company or not?”

“I promised him a few days, and I’m keeping my word.” Galavan said solemnly. “But if extra persuasion is needed to give him the final push, then we still need your brother. And if Bruce finds out he’s dead, this will all have been for nothing.”

Jerome rolled his eyes petulantly, but didn’t argue. “Fine. But he’d better hurry. I’m tired of waiting around.”

“Obviously.” Galavan said coldly. “Now, if you’ll be so kind as to _not_ murder anyone for at least a few more days, I’d appreciate it. Otherwise I might be forced into killing you, which would be an inconvenience for me.” He closed the door and left, not before giving Jerome another warning look.

Jeremiah, slumped in the corner, was still trying to catch his breath, and closed his eyes tightly to distract himself from the pain in his arm and side. He’d never thought he’d be grateful for Galavan, but he was now, if only to prolong his life a few days longer. 

Because there was still some small part of him that insisted, with unwavering faith, that Bruce would find him and fix everything. 

Jerome slouched down in the armchair, looking moodily out the window. “Everyone around here is a first-class downer. A guy can’t catch a break.” Turning his gaze to Jeremiah, he raised one eyebrow. “Guess we’ll have to continue this conversation another time.”

“Don’t waste your time,” Jeremiah replied hoarsely, catching his twin’s stare. “If you’re going to kill me, then kill me. But don’t say I’m like you.” He paused, trying to push away the threat of unconsciousness that was beginning to take over his mind. “We both know it’s not true, no matter how much you want to believe it.”

 


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

 

“Why’d you ask me here?” Selina asked suspiciously, glancing around the familiar study of Wayne Manor, then at Bruce, who was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, hands behind his back.

“I need your help.” he admitted, turning to face her slowly. “I think I have a way to work all this out, but I’ll need you.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded. “Do you think you could do it?”

“Bruce, I have to know what _it_ is first.” she scoffed, crossing her arms. 

“Oh. Right. Well, I have a plan, and since I can’t go to the police or else they might find out…” He trailed off, speaking quieter and quieter with every sentence, as if expecting there to be hidden microphones throughout the room. Selina nodded.

“You want me to go there for you.” she finished.

“It’s the only way I can get this to work. I haven’t been able to think of anything else.”

“So I talk to the police and tell them what’s going on. Then what?” she asked impatiently, ready to get down to business. Bruce shook his head.

“Well, what I need _specifically_ is for you to talk to Jim Gordon. I have a list of things he needs to know—"

“Of course.” she interjected. “Only you would make a list for a cop to follow.”

“Including where he needs to go, that he can’t bring anyone else, and other things. For instance, he doesn’t know that Jerome is still alive.”

Selina paused, frown deepening. “What?”

Bruce stopped pacing. “I thought I mentioned that.”

“No, you didn’t _mention_ that a serial killer we all saw _die_ is apparently alive!” she shot back, her voice rising. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know how he did it, but he’s alive. Galavan said so. Which makes things more dangerous, because no one can ever predict his next move. So I need Detective Gordon to know that.”  
“What the _hell.”_ Selina muttered. “We all saw that ginger freak bleed out in front of a giant crowd of people. Like seriously, why does no one ever die here?”

Bruce shrugged, only half-listening. “So that’s what I’ll need you to do. Tomorrow.” He glanced out the window, where the sun was setting. “As soon as you can.” 

“And then what?”

“After you do that, then I’m going to go to Galavan’s apartment, saying that I’m there to sell him the company. Then…”

“Does any of it involve anything I have to do?” she interrupted.

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay, then I don’t need to hear it.” She held out her hand. “Where’s the list?”

Bruce crossed the room to his desk and opened one of the drawers, passing her a neatly folded piece of paper. “Don’t lose it.”

“I never lose things.”

“Thanks.” He cast her a grateful look out of the corner of his eye. “For doing this, I mean.”

“Do you think things will work out okay?” For a moment, he caught a genuine flash of uncertainty in her eyes. “It’s just that…what if something goes wrong?”

“It _can’t_ go wrong.” Bruce said firmly, his own expression betraying his worry despite his words. “It can’t, because…”

The implication hung heavily in the air between them, unspoken.

_Because I won’t be able to live with myself if it doesn’t._

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

Jeremiah blinked dazedly as he heard the cell door swing open, instinctively thinking it had to be Jerome. He huddled further into the dark corner, dropping his gaze to the ground, but the voice that spoke wasn’t Jerome’s. In fact, it was a voice he’d never heard before, or at least not one he remembered. 

But then again, he was beginning to second guess his own mind now. Not because of what Jerome had said about him the day before, but because he knew rationality could slip away in the midst of fear, and he wasn’t going to fall prey to the traps of his own thoughts. 

Still, he knew one thing. It wasn’t Jerome speaking. And that gave him enough courage to look up and see the cell door was swinging open, an unfamiliar figure on the other side who was currently clinging onto Gertrud Kapelput as if his life depended on it. Jeremiah frowned faintly, wondering if this was her son she’d talked about before. He’d gathered enough to know the man must be a criminal of some kind, although he hadn’t learned what all this had to do with her being locked in the cell. 

Then his eyes widened as he noticed Galavan and Tabitha standing alongside them, and a dark hulking figure of a man in the shadows. He kept silent, not wanting any sort of involvement in whatever was happening. 

_Just so long as Jerome’s not here, because I can’t listen to him again, I can’t listen to those things he says, because they might be lies…they_ are _lies…but that doesn’t make things any better. It doesn’t make it any easier to hear._

_If we were the same, then he wouldn’t have tried to kill me back at the circus. He wouldn’t have wanted to, because he wouldn’t have had anything to prove. So that means we_ aren’t _the same, and never have been, and never will be…_

The sudden commotion outside of the cell door snapped his attention back to whatever was happening. It was too dark to see, but suddenly he saw Gertrud and the newcomer slumped on the floor, and then the latter shrieking something wildly at Galavan, the whole thing more incomprehensible and confusing than before. 

Jeremiah slowly began to realize what was happening, and his eyes widened in horror.

_She’s dead._

_They killed her._

The shock of the moment was so great that he didn’t feel anything…not sadness, not surprise, not even fear of whichever of the two Galavans had done it. It was as if his emotions had gone numb, or had been switched off, and he could only watch in dispassionate disbelief as time seemed to freeze around him.

It was only the last in a long line of things that had gone wrong, slowly heaping on more and more despair at the entire situation until the trauma was so great that he could no longer feel it. It seemed like there was never a moment when things went right…they only continued to get worse, and Jeremiah couldn’t tell if he was unconsciously becoming indifferent to it all, or if he couldn’t react because everything was becoming too troubling to face. 

_Most likely both._

The sound of rapid gunfire broke the oppressive stillness, and Jeremiah watched, wide-eyed, as the indistinguishable figures dispersed, shouts and orders echoing along with the sharp rattling of the pistol going off. He shrank back up against the wall, shutting his eyes and putting his hands over his ears to try and ignore whatever was happening…it was chaotic and confusing and he wanted nothing more than for it to all go away so he could have time to think, to maybe process whatever had happened. 

_Think about Bruce._ he reminded himself sternly. _Bruce wouldn’t be scared, he’d wait until everything was over and then he’d come up with a plan, and that’s what you need to do, because otherwise you could be next…you already know you’re going to be next, even if Bruce does follow Galavan’s orders, so you have to find a way out of here._

_You have to get out._

In the back of his mind, he realized the door hadn’t been shut again after someone had opened it, and when the gunfire and voices had faded, he opened his eyes slowly to see that it was swinging loosely on its hinges, the padlock lying on the floor. 

_It’s open._

He froze, not daring to believe it at first…maybe it was just a cruel trick his mind was playing on him, pretending there was hope. But after a long minute of staring wordlessly at the open door, wavering between doubt and suppressed elation, he decided it was better to at least see if it was real rather than simply speculating until this chance had slipped from his grasp. Standing slowly, his head spinning from the blood loss from the gash in his side, he reached out to push the door further open, flinching at the way it creaked loudly on its hinges. For a moment he didn’t move, waiting for someone to appear and slam it shut again, but there was no one.

_This is your chance._

_You’ve got to get out of here._

Still in a state of disbelief at what had happened, he tentatively stepped out of the cell, holding onto the cold metal bars with one hand as he looked around. Instinctively avoiding even glancing at the crumpled body on the ground (his mind still couldn’t come to terms with whatever had just happened, and he wanted it to stay that way, otherwise he knew he might panic and everything would be ruined), he took in his surroundings carefully. The warehouse was always dark, but he could see a side door that had been barred up with splintering, rotting boards of wood on the opposite wall.

_There. That’s your way out._

The loading dock doors were remote-operated, and it was impossible for anyone to lift them on their own…the only other doors were the blocked-off one and the one that he knew led to the back entrance staircase for the apartment. 

And he was _not_ taking that one.

Clenching his hands into fists to steady them and stop them from shaking, he crossed the room silently, staring up at the boarded door with a faint frown on his face. _Great. Now you’ve got to find a way to get it open._ His eyes landed on an abandoned rusty crowbar sitting on top of a pile of crates, and he picked it up, hoping the wood was old enough to break easily. Pushing the angled edge of the crowbar under one of the boards, he tried to focus on the task at hand, and not on the fact that there was a dead body in the same warehouse, less than twenty feet away from him. The more time that was passing, the more that reality set in, and Jeremiah didn’t want to face the ugly truth if he could help it. He hadn’t known Gertrud well in the limited time they had spent together, but she was the only person in this place who didn’t seem intent on killing him at some point in time, and the thought of her dying…dying as he had watched, moreover…was horrifying. 

_This isn’t the time to think about those things. You have to get out of here. That’s the most important thing you should be focusing on right now._

To his relief, the wood had rotted to the point that it easily snapped in half when he applied pressure to the boards with the crowbar, and soon enough, he’d cleared away enough to reach the handle and get through the doorway. Glancing over his shoulder, still paranoid that someone could be watching, he paused to catch his breath, then set aside the crowbar, back where he had found it. Brushing his hands off on his shirt, he kicked aside the pile of splintered wood at his feet, hoping against hope that maybe he could really get out of here alive.

Then he heard the door leading to the stairs swing open, and a familiar voice break the silence like the crack of a whip.

“So I heard about the little fiasco that happened down h—" Jerome stopped short, his gaze traveling from the open cell door to his brother in the opposite corner, staring at him with frightened eyes. His look of surprise turned to a smile. “Oh, look at that. It’s lucky I got here when I did.” 

He stepped toward Jeremiah, who, without waiting to see if Jerome would follow him, pushed open the door of the back entrance and scrambled out into the alleyway. It was nighttime, and the city sky was black with polluted clouds, not a single star shining through. But Jeremiah didn’t take time to look at the sky; instead, he glanced uneasily one way and then the other, wondering wildly which direction would be safest. He didn’t know Gotham’s back streets at all, and had no idea if either way turned into a dead end…the thought of Jerome cornering him mid-escape was unbearable, especially after this stroke of luck. 

But there wasn’t time to contemplate the safest route, and it was pointless, as he had no way of knowing in the first place. Begging his instincts to have been correct, Jeremiah turned left down the alley, casting a scared glance over his shoulder as Jerome climbed through the opening between the boards, fumbling to pull a pistol from one of his pockets. 

“Do you really want to do this?” he called after his brother, leveling the gun at him just before Jeremiah turned the corner out of sight. Jerome rolled his eyes, following him with all the nonchalance of someone taking an evening stroll. “I mean, I know this city has a thing for people getting shot in alleys, but I didn’t think you had a death wish.”

Jeremiah tried not to listen to his brother’s voice, which bounced off the concrete walls that surrounded him, echoing through his head maddeningly. The alley split into two directions, and he turned left again, running through the puddles of oil and gasoline that accompanied the pot holes and wilted moss that marked the pavement. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as fear gripped him, a terrible sense of being lost filling his mind as he went deeper into the maze of the city’s alleyways and side roads that wound haphazardly around and between the buildings that sat on the skyline. 

_Don’t let him catch you, not now, not when you’re finally free. You can’t let him bring you back, after everything that’s happened, you can’t let him stop you…_

Somewhere, hidden in the back of his thoughts, he knew if that happened, it would be a breaking point. He had been pushed to the edge…he hesitated to call it the edge of sanity, because that sounded dangerously like comparing himself to his twin…but it was the edge of his endurance, and if he wanted to survive this, he couldn’t go back.

Not if he ever wanted things to be the same again.

“These hide-and-seek games are getting more advanced!” Jerome giggled, and Jeremiah cringed at how near his voice sounded. The noise of city traffic was a faint whisper in the alley, and there was nothing else to break the heavy silence. It was like a nightmare, except worse, because he knew it was real. “I’m warning you, though, if I see ya, I shoot.” The clicking of the pistol backed up his words, and Jeremiah slowed down, trying to muffle the sound of his footsteps.

_Why can’t you leave me alone?_

“Now,” Jerome continued graciously, “if you’d stop where you are and come back to the apartment, then I won’t have to do that. You should consider that a gift, Miah…not everyone would be as nice as me. But I’m _willing_ to make an exception for you if you listen to me and stop running.” 

_I’ll never listen to you. Why would I ever listen to the demands of a raging lunatic?_ His side was burning from the knife injury, and when he drew his hand away it was covered in blood. _Just go. Don’t stop for him or anyone. You have to keep going._

A shot rang out in the stillness, and Jeremiah ducked, adrenaline coursing though his body. He didn’t look back to see if Jerome was anywhere near him…there wasn’t time for that.

“Look, I think I’m being very reasonable.” came the voice of his twin again, closer this time. “You just don’t appreciate my generosity.”

“Generosity.” he muttered under his breath with no little amount of sarcasm, gritting his teeth as he stumbled, his shoulder knocking into the high wall of the alleyway. His mind flashed back to the labyrinths he used to draw, the way he’d envisioned them being built into actual houses. This place was like some sort of twisted version of that, except instead of keeping things out, it was holding him in. He didn’t know where to go, didn’t even know how much further he could run with the world going in and out of focus around him.

_You have to keep going. No matter what._

_It’s what Bruce would do._

The thought galvanized him enough for another burst of energy, although he could hear Jerome’s approaching footsteps close behind him. His voice was getting nearer and nearer as well, and his laugh was loud and vicious, punctuating his words as he spoke.

“Sometimes I think you _like_ getting yourself into trouble. What exactly was your plan here? You really thought you could escape me for good? Jeez, Miah, you left me back at the circus and I _still_ found you…what makes you think you can really get away? I mean, I know you’re touchy about me saying this, but it sounds pretty crazy.”

Jeremiah’s steps slowed, and a sob of despair caught in his throat as he saw the alley in front of him ended in a redbrick wall that made up the side of an apartment building. _Oh God no, there’s got to be another way out, this can’t be right…_ refusing to give up, he kept running, although his heart sank and the hope that had kept him going was quickly fading away.

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Jerome called from behind, and there was anothersharp crack of the gun going off. Jeremiah didn’t pay much attention to it, he was so intent on believing there was a way out of the dead end, but then his legs inexplicably collapsed from underneath him and he stumbled, falling to the ground. When he tried to get back up, everything blurred out of focus as the pain in his side doubled, and he bit down hard on his lip, tasting blood.

_Oh crap._

Through the haze of everything around him, he saw Jerome striding toward him, spinning his pistol theatrically in one hand. He bent down in front of Jeremiah, raising one eyebrow. “Didn't believe me, did ya?” His brother tried to back away from him, but could only curl in on himself, his head spinning as Jerome laughed again.

“Maybe _now_ you’ll see that you should listen to me.” He dragged him closer by the front of his shirt, and Jeremiah couldn’t pull away. “I said I’d shoot if you didn’t stop, gave you _plenty_ of warning, and look where we are.” He shook his head with mock regret. “Guess we’d better be getting back, huh? Don’t want Theo to worry. And bedsides, I’m dead. Can’t let anyone see me wandering around with a nerd version of myself. Just imagine the response.” He straightened up and grabbed his brother’s arm roughly. “Let’s go.”

“No, wait—" he managed to gasp out, staring down at the blood mixing with the rainwater puddles on the alley floor, and Jerome rolled his eyes.

“Sometimes I can’t believe we’re really related. You’re unbearably dramatic. I mean, c’mon, Theo stabbed me in the neck and _I_ was fine.”

“Well, he wasn’t trying to _kill_ you.” he muttered between his teeth. Jerome nodded.

“You’ve got a point. But still. You’re not gonna bleed out or anything, so quit whining and come on.”

Jeremiah, who, if he had been able to think straight, would have strongly disputed his brother’s claim, tried to resist. “No…I’m not…going back.”

Jerome wheeled around. “You want me to shoot you again? Maybe in the head this time?” He pressed the barrel to his brother’s temple, and Jeremiah froze, trembling. “Because I could. I could kill you right now and walk away and that would be that. Do you want me to?” Petrified, his twin didn’t answer. Jerome leaned closer. “I said, do you want me to do that?”

“N-no…”

“Cool, because that’d be a boring way to end all this.” But he didn’t move the gun away. “So if ya want to live a little longer, stop fighting.”

“Jerome…I can’t…go back.” he whispered pleadingly, furious that he had resorted to outright begging his brother to let him go, but at a loss for any other sort of tactic. “Please…please don’t.”

Jerome considered the offer for a moment thoughtfully, then his eyes lit up maliciously. “Ooh, I have an idea.” He dropped the gun to the ground, clapping his hands together like an excited two-year-old. Jeremiah flinched at the sound, barely hanging onto the last threads of consciousness he possessed. “How about this.”

Sitting down cross-legged on the alley floor to come eye-to-eye with his brother, disregarding the unsavory conditions of his surroundings, Jerome smiled. “We both want something from each other, right? _You_ want to be free, and _I,”_ he placed a hand dramatically on his chest like a stage performer, “want you to see what I’ve been trying to tell you for so long. Maybe we can come to a compromise.”

If there was anything Jeremiah knew about his twin, it was that Jerome was not one for making compromises. It was all or nothing…he didn’t bargain or trade with anyone, not even if it would benefit him in the end. If there was something he really wanted, then he would find some other way to get it, but he wouldn’t give up anything of his own in the process.

Still, Jeremiah was willing to believe anything at the moment, no matter how ridiculous, as long as it hinted at his freedom. That was all that mattered.

“So what do you want?” he asked faintly, trying to ignore the way his side felt like it was on fire, the way everything else had gone so cold and numb and increasingly dark. 

_Don’t let him win. Don’t ever let him win._

“I want you to admit the truth.” Jerome said, his voice quiet, but with even more intensity than usual. “About yourself.”

“That I’m…like you?” 

“Exactly.” Jerome picked up the pistol again, leveling it at his brother’s face. “It’s only fair, you know.”

He flinched, blinking frustrated tears from his eyes. “But it’s…it’s not true.”

“So you want me to kill you?” Jerome countered, unperturbed.

“You _know_ it isn’t true.”

“Humor me, then.” His finger rested on the trigger, unyielding. “Tell me anyway.”

“Jerome…”

“What are we, Jeremiah?” he interrupted, his gaze piercing and steady. There was nothing insane in his voice or expression for once, and it was unnerving. “Tell me what we are.”

“We…we’re…”

“ _Tell_ me.” There was no mistaking the sudden anger in his eyes.

_Just say it, even if it’s not true. Is it really worth your life, not giving in to him? Is it worth everything you have, just to be right?_

_You have to play his game, for now. It’s the only way you won’t end up dead with a bullet in your brain. Let him think he’s won, tell the lie you don’t believe, because that’s what will save you. Being stubborn about this won’t get you anywhere, and you know it._

_Play by his rules if you want to survive this._

_There’s nothing else you can do._

Jerome was waiting patiently, one eyebrow raised inquisitively. Jeremiah took a shivering breath, wincing at the stab of pain in his chest that came along with it. 

_Please, please just say what he wants. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t mean he’s won. It’s only words. Words that aren’t true, and saying them aloud won’t make them any more true. You know that._

_If you die here, you’ll never see Bruce again._

“The same.” he murmured, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He was shivering, everything suddenly unbearably cold, and his head was aching more than ever. “You and me, we’re the same.” Dragging his gaze up to meet Jerome’s, he shook his head. “Happy now?”

_He got what he wanted. What he’s always wanted. He knew he was going to win, too. It was only a matter of time._

_He always wins._

A broad smile crossed his twin’s face. “Oh yes.” he replied, his eyes glittering as he put the gun away and stood up. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

“Are you…are you gonna let me go now?” he asked softly, and Jerome chuckled.

“Wait, you really believed me? That I was going to hold up my end of the deal?” Jeremiah looked up at him defeatedly, the last shard of hope draining from his eyes. “That’s sweet of ya, but no. I ain’t in the habit of leaving unfinished business behind. And I,” he latched onto Jeremiah’s wrist and jerked him to his feet, the latter doubling over and trying to keep his hands steady as he pressed them to the side of his ribcage, “am not finished with you yet. Although I will say, I do consider tonight to be a milestone of great proportions, what with you finally admitting the truth.”

His laughter echoed maddeningly thought the silent alleyway, reverberating off the walls and mingling with the sounds of the city beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I don't hate Jeremiah, I just really like writing whump lol


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Chapter Twenty-One**

 

_Don’t let this chance pass you by._

_Not again._

_You can’t mess up again._

Jeremiah stared at his brother with heavy eyes, shivering from blood loss and exhaustion, his grip tight on the knife he held behind his back. Jerome was throwing darts at the target on the wall, humming some song to himself and thoroughly ignoring his twin.

_Don’t let him win. No matter what. Don’t let that happen._

Because that was all he had left now.

_He always wins. Always. No matter how hard you try, he gets what he wants._

_After all those years, he found you._

_And now he’s trying to drive you as mad as him. Win one last final time._

_Don’t let him have that._

The knife was small, one he had taken from the closet full of weapons when Jerome had left him in the room the night before. Through the cloud of pain he hadn’t seemed to be able to escape, Jeremiah had scrambled to find some sort of knife, hiding the thin blade he’d picked up behind him when Jerome had come back in the next morning. His brother hadn’t paid him any attention since he’d brought him back to the penthouse, and Jeremiah had been too focused on not passing out from the strain of it all to say anything to him. The gunshot injury in his side, which hadn’t felt much worse than a heavy blow at first, had worsened to a painful burn he couldn’t overlook, and he could feel one rib had been cracked, shifting out of place whenever he moved. Rather than trying to sleep through the night, Jeremiah had counted down the hours until daylight had shone through the curtains covering the window, holding tightly onto the knife the whole time.

_You’ve only got one chance now, make it count. Forget whatever he said…don’t even think about it in the first place. This isn’t madness, this is self-preservation._

That was what he told himself, repeating it over and over again in his head like a desperate sort of mantra, as if somehow that would make him believe it. That there really was nothing more than a pragmatic purpose for what he knew he had to do. Detached, impersonal…there was nothing beyond that.

But no matter how hard he tried, he knew the truth.

It had nothing to do with saving himself…short of a miracle, Jeremiah had slowly resigned himself to the fact that he would most likely die here, without ever leaving these four walls again.

_This_ was about proving a point to his brother.

That he wouldn’t always get the last laugh. 

Jerome had terrorized and tortured him, broken his spirit, tore down the carefully constructed walls his twin had built up around his mind. He’d forced him to echo the lies he believed, to all but admit the one thing Jeremiah had spent his entire life, as long as he could remember, denying.

_We’re not the same, and I’ll show you why._

_Because you, Jerome, you’re destined to fail._

_You may be victorious now, and you may have won before, but it won’t always be that way. I won’t let it be that way, because you don’t deserve to be the one who’s always winning. Your fame was born from your insanity, the way you destroyed everything you touched. That’s temporary, just a tabloid story from yesterday’s news. You won’t be remembered, Jerome, because that means you’ve won, and I won’t let you win._

_You’ve beaten me, and now it’s my turn._

After all, what did he have left to lose?

Despite his resentment-fueled thoughts, Jeremiah was anything but prepared to take his brother down. Partly because the very idea of killing someone in cold blood was synonymous to insanity in his mind now, after what Jerome had said, and partly because he was afraid of what might happen if he _did_ kill him.

There was the faintest spark of doubt that flickered in the back of his mind, whispering the one thing that Jeremiah dreaded the most.

That he would kill Jerome…and he wouldn’t be sorry.

That he would _like_ it.

Because then it would prove what his twin had said all along…that they were the same. And it wouldn’t matter if Jerome was dead, because he would live on in Jeremiah. It wasn’t about _who_ it was who got to live…it was about whether or not that person was sane. And if this unleashed what Jerome had always insisted was true, then it would have all been for nothing. 

There would be no difference between them anymore.

He bit down on his lip at the thought, trying to not second-guess himself. Because then he knew he would never go through with it.

His hand was cramped from holding so tightly onto the knife blade, and he let go of it, rotating his wrist and trying not to seem so tense. He knew Jerome would sense it immediately if he showed any sign of being nervous about anything, and then he would never get another chance for any of this.

_For killing him, you mean._

He shook his head, shifting against the wall and grimacing at the sharp jab of pain in his ribcage. His bloodstained shirt had stuck to the open injury in his side, serving as a makeshift bandage and keeping him from losing consciousness from blood loss. He barely paid attention to any of that now, wholly focused on his final act of resistance against his brother.

_I won’t let him kill me. He doesn’t deserve that satisfaction. To be the winner. He’s won too much already._

_After years of hiding, he’s found you again._

_He’s made you admit that lie…that horrible lie that you’re the same as him._

_He’s taken everything away from you._

_It’s your turn to take something back._

“I heard a little rumor,” Jerome said conversationally, glancing over his shoulder as he flung another dart at the board, “that your buddy Bruce is coming tomorrow. To sell his company to Theo.”

Jeremiah’s heart leapt in his chest at the mention of Bruce, that terrible flash of desperate hope rushing through him, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. He couldn’t think about that, couldn’t try to pretend that he would find a way out of here. That Galavan would even let him see Bruce one last time before he killed them both.

_Please, please don’t let him catch you, Bruce. You can find a way to stop him…just don’t do anything dangerous._

“Thought you’d be excited.” Jerome commented, and Jeremiah looked back up, having forgotten that his brother had said anything in the first place. “I mean, I thought you two were, like, weirdly close.”

Jeremiah frowned, but didn’t say anything. Arguing with his twin wasn’t going to accomplish anything. Jerome, however, saw his silence as a signal to keep talking. And when Jerome talked, it usually wasn’t about something pleasant.

“I dunno when Theo’s gonna do the whole thing where he kills the kid…maybe he’ll invite you too. That’d be kinda funny, ‘stead of a double date, it’s a double execution. Two for the price of one!”  
“I thought you were going to kill me.” Jeremiah couldn’t resist pointing out quietly, and Jerome grinned.

“Never miss anything, do ya? Well, Theo could have Brucie and I could have you. What a show _that_ would be.”

Jeremiah shuddered, forgetting for a moment about the knife behind his back, about what he had just been planning on doing. He hated that, after all this time, his fear of Jerome hadn’t subsided…it only continued to grow, like an uncontrollable virus taking hold of everything it touched. _Don’t listen to him. Please, just don’t listen._

“Remember the charity ball thingy?” Jerome piped up again, balancing a dart on the tip of one finger. “I saw you standing in the back with the old Wayne butler when I made Brucie boy come up onstage. You didn’t even try to stop me.”

“What was I supposed to have done?” he countered, not mentioning that he had been frozen to the spot in sheer terror the entire time. Jerome shrugged.

“Dunno, maybe be a real friend and offer to let me take you instead? Y’know, like they do in movies.” He paused, looking back at his brother. “But of course you were probably too scared.”

_God, how does he always know what I’m thinking?_

“If you had been _really_ smart,” Jerome continued, “you’d have found a way to let Brucie get outta the way, then maybe taken one of the knives—we had a million of ‘em on that stage,” he pantomimed stabbing himself, “and boom, you’d be a hero.”

Jeremiah tried not to look away, not to betray anything by his expression. But he felt a cold shiver of uncertainty run up his spine, and when Jerome stood up, he pressed himself back against the wall, grabbing onto the knife hidden behind him ad sucking in a sharp breath.

“Though that doesn’t exactly seem to be your style.” Jerome shook his head with mock regret, crossing the room and crouching down on the floor beside his brother, rocking back and forth on his heels. Jeremiah turned to face him, trying to keep the knife hidden. “More of a stab-in-the-back kinda guy, aren’t ya?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” He tried to keep his voice steady, but it caught in his throat and came out much more frightened than he intended.

“Oh, c’mon, Miah. You’re seriously gonna try and hide things from me? When has that _ever_ worked out before?”

“I’m not hiding anything.” _How does he know, how did he find out, I was so careful, I made sure he wouldn’t notice anything…_

Jerome tilted his head and smiled condescendingly. “I _know_ you, kiddo. I know how you think. Plus, you’ve got the worst poker face in the world. I can always tell when you’re planning something.”

“I…I wasn’t…”

“I know you’ve had that knife since last night.” Jerome cut in, his smile never leaving his face. Jeremiah’s face lost all its last traces of color and his eyes grew wide and horrified. “And you’ve been sittin’ there all morning trying to work up the courage to use it. I gotta give ya props, you’re persistent.” When his brother remained silent, he laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad. I just wanted you to know you can’t hide things from me. Because as you know,” he leaned forward, locking eyes with Jeremiah, “we think the same way.”

“No…”

Jerome rolled his eyes impatiently. “Seriously, what is it with you? You know it’s the truth. Would it really kill you to accept that?”

“It’s not true.”

“Fine, I don’t want to argue with ya.” He ruffled his twin’s hair affectionately, and Jeremiah flinched. “Anyway, what was I saying before?”

“About the charity ball…” he tried, hoping to distract his brother, but Jerome shook his head.

“Oh right, the knife.” He reached forward and disentangled it from Jeremiah’s grasp, rotating the blade so it caught the light streaming in from the window. “So, walk me through it. What was your plan?”

“I didn’t have a plan.” Jeremiah said flatly, staring at the weapon with empty eyes. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in his mind that Jerome was going to really kill him now. _You screwed up again. Like always. And he’s won. Again._

“That’s my bro. Just like me.” He patted Jeremiah on the side of the face. “Who needs plans anyway, huh?”

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it.” he murmured, resting his head against the wall, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Please, just do it already.”

“Hmm, no. I have a better idea.” To his surprise and confusion, Jerome passed the knife back to him and sat back. “I’m gonna let you have your chance.”

Jeremiah’s eyes narrowed, holding onto the knife handle tentatively. “What?” 

His twin spread his arms wide, his gaze never leaving the other’s face. “Go ahead.”

He stared, uncomprehending. “I…I don’t…”

“Kill me.” Jerome was still smiling, his voice low and challenging. “I know you want to.”

“I don’t _want_ to, I…”

“You do. You knew you weren’t gonna escape, so why not try to take me out while you can? That’s what you were thinking, isn’t it?”

_How does he know? How does he_ always _know, every time?_

“So do it.” There was a gleam of laughter in Jerome’s eyes, a confidence that flowed from him even now. 

_Because either way, he gets what he wants._

_I kill him, it proves what he’s been saying this whole time. That I’m willing to be just like him._

_If I don’t, then he’s no worse off. And he still gets to kill me when he wants._

“I’d make my decision quick, if I were you. Don’t want Theo to walk in and spoil the fun.”

Jeremiah shook his head half-heartedly. “I’m not…”

“You were gonna do it before. So what’s the big deal now? Don’t like to look the victim in the eye?” Jerome shut his eyes tightly. “There ya go. One hundred percent guilt-free.”

_What_ is _the difference? You were going to kill him anyway. And now he’s letting you do it._

_Why aren’t you listening?_

Jerome opened one eye. “You want me to make a speech or something?”

He shook his head, his gaze traveling to the closed door anxiously. Part of him wanted Galavan to walk in, to break up this agonizing moment. But nothing happened, and he turned back to Jerome, who was watching him intently.

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for. Are you scared? Because that would be disappointing. You were doing so well.”

“I’m not _scared.”_ he said resentfully, although his hands trembled and there was undeniable fear in his eyes. But it wasn’t what Jerome thought…it was’t fear of killing him, it was fear of what would happen after.

Fear that he would find himself capable of killing.

“C’mon, Miah, have your fun. Enjoy yourself. It ain’t the end of the world. If you’re sad about losing me, just think of how much happier you’ll be that you’ve gotten what you wanted.” He grinned wider. “To see me dead before you. To _win_ for once.”

“Stop.” he whispered, the knife suddenly feeling much heavier. “Please, stop.”

“Why? I think I’m entitled to a few last words, don’t you? And I’m not saying anything you haven’t thought yourself.”

“Jerome, _don’t.”_ His words broke into a strangled sob. _Just stop saying those things. Stop making me believe them. They’re lies, and that’s all they’ve ever been. Stop making them sound true._

“Don’t what?” He smiled nastily. “Don’t tell the truth? Are you too much of a _coward_ to face reality?”

“No, I…”

“Oh, but you are. You can’t face what’s right in front of you. Because you know if you do, you can’t turn away. So you ignore it, you deny it. You’re a coward, like you always have been.”

“I’m _not.” You are, you are, you always were…_

“I don't think,” Jerome said quietly, leaning in close, his eyes glittering, “your friend Bruce would want to associate with a coward.” 

Jeremiah’s shoulders tensed. “Don’t bring Bruce into this.”

“Oh, did that hit a nerve? Sorry, I forgot you were upset about Galavan planning on killing him. Betcha wish you’d never met him in the first place, huh? I mean, if you weren’t mixed up with him, he wouldn’t be forced to—"

He broke off abruptly, his head jerking down to stare at the knife lodged below his diaphragm. Jeremiah leaned forward, ignoring the blood rushing out over his hand as he gripped the handle tightly. 

“ _Don’t_ talk about Bruce.” he whispered, his eyes dark. “Don’t _ever_ talk about him.”

Jerome was silent for a long moment, then he gave a strangled laugh, blood beginning to trickle from the corners of his mouth in a ghastly mockery of an upside-down grin. “Glad you…finally see…”

“Stop talking.” Jeremiah’s voice trembled, his entire body shaking. “ _Please._ Please just stop.”

“You gonna…just leave me…hangin’ like this…” Jerome glanced down at the knife. “Or do I…hafta bring up Brucie boy agai—"

Jeremiah pulled the knife out, then plunged it back in, his vision blurred with helpless tears and everything feeling like it was closing in around him. “Shut _up.”_

Jerome giggled. “Never.”

Jeremiah tried to breathe, but his lungs wouldn’t work. The knife was cold and too heavy and he hated it, but he didn’t break away. 

_What are you doing, why did you…_

Jerome collapsed over backward, and Jeremiah leaned over him, staring into his bloodstained face. “Leave me alone.” he whispered brokenly.

Jerome’s fading gaze met his for a moment, identical brown eyes locking on one another, and his smile flickered before his face went suddenly still. Jeremiah froze, the knife falling from his hand as tears ran down his face and he crumpled in a heap, his chest heaving with sobs. The gunshot wound in his side felt like it was on fire, every breath tortured and heavy, and as he stared down at the blood pooling on the floor beneath them, he wasn’t entirely sure whose it was anymore.

_You made me do it, you know that. You made me do it. But it doesn’t mean I’m like you, it doesn’t mean we’re the same. That was always a lie, and now you won’t ever tell it again, because you’re dead, you’re dead for good this time, and you’re never coming back._

_You’re never coming back again._

_Because I killed you._

_Oh God, I killed you._

He rested his head on his brother’s still chest, trying to catch his breath between sobs, tears mingling with the blood on his face ( _and it’s not yours, it’s his, because you killed him, you’re a killer)._ He didn’t hear the door open, didn’t see Galavan’s shadow fall over him as he stood in the doorway, or the look of sudden surprise on the man’s face, which slowly turned into one of cynical admiration. 

Admiration of Jerome, for going to such lengths to prove a point to his twin.

Even if he had seen Galavan, Jeremiah wouldn’t have paid attention. His entire mind was consumed with a million different emotions…crushing guilt, horror at his own sudden decision that he knew he couldn’t ever reverse, a desperate sort of triumph, resentment for everything having to come to this…and relief. 

Relief that he _did_ feel something, and that he wasn’t _glad._

_We aren’t the same, I told you so, I told you the whole time, and now look. Look what happened. I was right, and you were the one who lied. I knew you were lying. I never believed you, Jerome, and I’ll never believe you, because I proved you wrong._

_We’ll never be the same._

But he had still killed Jerome, he was the one who had done it, and he couldn’t ignore that. Couldn’t push aside the fact that he had resorted to the same crime his brother had inflicted on so many other people, because it _was_ the same crime.

He hadn’t done it in self-defense, he hadn’t done it to save himself.

_You murdered him._

_And he wanted you to. So you could see that he was right about that._

_So he could prove that you are capable of the same things as him._

_Because somewhere, deep down, you might not be so different after all._

His hand closed around the bloody handle of the knife, the only thing in reach, and the only thing he could hold onto for comfort as his mind began to break down, snapping into shattered pieces that he could only hope to fix after this was all over.

If he ever made it out of here alive.

 

\+ + + + + +

 

“Galavan?” Jim Gordon echoed incredulously, holding up the paper Selina had passed to him and narrowing his eyes. “Theo Galavan?”

She nodded. “Bruce sent me because he can’t go to you himself. They’re watching him.”

Harvey Bullock, reclining in the chair in the corner, shook his head sagely as he took a swig from the bottle he kept hidden in his desk. “I knew that guy was up to no good. He looks too much like a politician to be an honest man.”

Gordon ran a hand across his face. “Okay. Well, let’s start at the beginning. Do you—"

“Look, I can’t stay.” Selina interrupted, backing toward the door. “They could be watching me too, and I’ve gotta get out of here fast before they get suspicious. Bruce wrote down everything you need to know on that paper, and he wants it to happen tomorrow. He’s already called up Galavan and told him he’s going to meet him at his fancy apartment tomorrow to sign over the papers for his company, which is when he’ll need you to be there.”

“Selina, is…”

“I have to go.” she said firmly. “I’ve stayed too long, anyway. If Bruce has anything else he needs to tell you, he’ll pass it on to me. Don’t call him.” She turned and left the office, slamming the door behind her.

Gordon sat down slowly, staring at the paper. Then his back stiffened and his eyes narrowed. “What the hell?”

Bullock looked up. “What is it?”

Shaking his head, he studied the list of information Bruce had written out, disbelief and worry passing over his face. There was silence between them for a long minute, then he spoke. “Valeska’s still alive.”

The bearded cop raised an eyebrow, the bottle pausing on his lips. “Uh, sorry, it sounded like you just said the Valeska kid’s still alive. But you must not have said that, because we saw him freakin’ die in front of us. Maybe I need to get my hearing checked or something.”

Gordon was still staring at the paper. “You heard right, Harv.”

Spluttering on his drink, Bullock sat up straight. “What sorta voodoo shit…” He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Wait, let me get this straight. Jerome Valeska? The psycho ginger who killed the deputy mayor? _That_ Valeska?”

“Yes.”

“And according to the Wayne kid, he’s alive?”

“Yep, and that's not all.” Finally tearing his gaze away, Gordon turned to his partner, his mouth drawn into a thin line. “I should have mentioned this before, even if it was confidential. But the reason we’re going there…the reason we can’t just walk in and arrest Galavan on the spot…in the first place is because there’s another.”

Bullock's eyes seemed ready to pop out of their sockets. He set down the bottle on the floor and placed his hands on his knees. “Excuse me, what? Another who?”

“His twin brother.” Gordon sighed, digging through his desk drawer for a transmitter piece and pistol after carefully tucking the paper into his shirt pocket. “Jeremiah. And Galavan’s got him too.”


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

 

“It's a two-way transmitter,” Selina explained, showing Bruce how to clip the wired microphone to his shirt and tuck it under the collar. “You switch it on once you get into the building, then Jimbo and the other guy who’s name I always forget will hear whatever you say, so they’ll know what to do.”

“And you explained everything on the list to him?” Bruce asked for what felt like the hundredth time. Selina nodded impatiently. She had gone back to the precinct twice the day before, first to give Gordon more information on Bruce’s plan, and then the second time to pick up the transmitter. 

“Yes, he knows. He and his pal will be outside the door once you're in, and they’ll be listening. And you’ve got the piece to keep it from locking?”

Bruce pointed to the magnet sitting on the desk that would click into place on the door latch and prevent it from shutting all the way. He’d noticed the keypad the first time he’d been to the penthouse, but hadn’t seen the combination, so he couldn’t unlock it from the inside. “Yes. Everything’s here.”

She finished fastening the transmitter to his collar and stood back, looking him up and down with a critical eye. “No one will notice anything out of place. Just keep the mic on the whole time so they can hear you. Otherwise they might bust in too early or something. You know what those two are like.” She rolled her eyes. “Absolute idiots.”

“At least they’re helping us.” Bruce shuffled the papers he was holding in order, looking over them carefully. “Do these look like official documents from a distance?” He held them up and Selina scoffed.

“Like I know what _official documents_ look like. I guess so. As long as there’s a place for him to sign his name, he probably won’t notice anything else.” She climbed up onto the back of the couch, casting a glance at the closed door. “And Alfred still doesn’t know?”

  
Bruce shook his head decidedly. “I can’t tell him about it. He’ll say it’s too risky, that he won’t let me do something like that. But I have to. And I know Detective Gordon will get things under control quick enough before anything happens.”

“How exactly are you gonna sneak out tonight?” she asked with one eyebrow raised. “I mean, it’s not like you usually go wandering around Gotham as a hobby. Won’t he be suspicious?”

“Uh, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” he began, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks. “I thought maybe you could help me with that.”

Selina gave him a side-eyed look. “In what way? And why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

  
“Like you’re gonna ask me on a date or something.” She gave a mock shudder. “I mean, cause you’re blushing.”

“I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

Bruce sat down at the desk and rested his face in his hands, pressing them against his cheeks to covertly hide said blush, which didn’t work because it made it all the more noticeable. “It’s just hot in here.”

“Oh, yeah, totally.” she deadpanned. “Anyway, how do you want me to help you sneak out of here?”

“Well, I, um…” Bruce began, flustered, and Selina’s eyes widened, then narrowed to slits.

“Wait, you’re not really asking me out on a date so you can get out, are you?”

He chewed his lip. “I don’t know how else I can leave the house without Alfred being suspicious.”

“Bruce, your butler thinks I’m something the gutter washed up on a rainy day. That would only make him more suspicious. And I would say no anyway. I don’t want him to yell at me too once he finds out.”

“Oh.” Bruce looked deflated, staring down at the top of the desk. Selina’s expression softened.

“Just say you’re going to the library or something. You do that all the time.”

“Okay.” He began digging busily through the desk drawers for a pencil, not looking up at Selina.

“Don’t tell me your feelings are hurt because I said no to your date idea.” she scoffed. “Seriously, it’s nothing personal. I’m just telling you Alfred would know something’s up if you used that story.”

He looked up quickly. “Does that mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”

She paused, looking down at the couch. “I mean. I think it’s a stupid thing to focus on right now. There’s time to be mad later, when all this is over.”

Bruce’s shoulders slumped. “I never meant to ignore you, or any of the other things I did. And I won’t ever do it again.”

She waved him off. “Okay, fine, if it makes you happy, I won’t be mad anymore. Good enough?” For the first time, ever since he had met Silver and Galavan, Bruce could see the shadow in Selina’s expression lift.

He smiled, relieved. He knew she meant it, no matter how abrupt and even curt she sounded. Selina wasn’t one for being overly attached, and if she would admit to forgiving him, then he knew she was sincere. 

“And I won’t let any other girls around here without you making sure they’re on the level first.” he added for good measure.

She smirked. “No girl is ever on the level, Bruce. None of the ones I know, anyway.”

“Yeah, but your best friend sells illegal drugs for a living, so that might be a reflection of the sort of people you know.” Bruce pointed out.

“Hey, Ivy’s good at what she does.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.” he said drily, then paused. “Okay, anyway. So Gordon will be able to hear what I’m saying once I switch this on?”

Selina immediately sobered as well, nodding. “Yeah. There isn’t an earpiece though, so you won’t be able to hear him. You’ve gotta make sure you say the right things.”

“I know.” He drew in a deep breath. “I’ve got it planned out.”

“What about…” She hesitated. “What about Jerome? He planned to kill you at the charity ball, remember? How do you know he won’t just outright attack you?”

“Selina, I’ve worked this out as well as I can. There’re some risks, but that’s what happens sometimes. But I think it’ll be okay.” He couldn’t think anything else, because then he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to carry through with the plan. Selina didn’t look convinced.

“It’s just…” She trailed off, staring at the floor. “There’s no point in all this if you’re just gonna end up in trouble too. And I don’t…” 

She didn’t continue, but Bruce understood. _I don’t want to lose you too._ He straightened up, giving her a reassuring smile.

“It’ll be all right.” _It has to be._ “And once it’s over, things can go back to normal.”

She gave him a half-smile, then got to her feet. “Well, if you don’t need me anymore, I’ll go, I guess.” The unspoken meaning behind her words was clear. _I can't stay cooped up in this house any longer._ “See ya around.”

“Selina.” he called after her, and she turned around, standing on the edge of the balcony. 

“What?”

He stood up, rounding the corner of the desk and fiddling with the transmitter tucked into the collar of his shirt. “Thanks.”

She frowned inquisitively. “What for?”

“Everything, just…” He gestured vaguely. “For not skipping out on me, after the things I said. For coming back when I asked you to. You know?”

She nodded slowly, her lips quirking into a small smile, then pulled the hood of her jacket up over her hair and leaned on the railing of the balcony. “Yeah, I know.” 

Without another word, she flipped over backward and out of sight, landing silently on the ground below. 

\+ + + + + +

 

"Yes, I sent Tabby over to you a little while ago. I know you have…interests…that require that sort of thing, and _I_ had no need for a dead body lying around my home.” Galavan rested the phone on his shoulder and tilted his head to keep it in place, rifling through a stack of folders on his desk. He paused, listening, then nodded. “Of course, it’s absolutely no trouble at all. Even if you don’t have any sort of use for it, I’m sure it’s the kind of thing you like to have on hand.” Another pause, as he flipped open one of the folders and wrote something down on a notepad, all documents that involved his upcoming run for mayor. “Absolutely, Professor Strange. Oh, of course, entirely confidential. I understand.” Hanging up the phone, he sat down at the desk and began to read over the papers in front of him. The penthouse was quiet, Tabitha having left via the back staircase earlier that day, a body bag slung over her shoulder and knife in hand in case she met up with any inquisitive bystanders. When there was a knock on the door a few minutes later, Galavan looked up quickly, then got to his feet and crossed the room, a slight smile on his face.

Opening the door, he stepped aside graciously, motioning for the guest to enter. “How nice to see you again, Bruce. Please, come in.”

Bruce didn’t smile back at him, but followed him into the penthouse, holding a paper-clipped stack of documents close to his chest. Pressing the magnet against the door latch and listening to it shut behind him but not click into the lock, he breathed a sigh of relief. _Okay, that part’s done._ He resisted the urge to check the transmitter attached to his shirt out of sight, knowing that Galavan had eyes like a hawk and would be able to tell right away if something seemed suspicious.

“I assume everything is in order?” the man asked over his shoulder, and Bruce nodded, trying to look reluctant, as if he really _was_ signing his family’s company and life work over to a virtual stranger. 

“It’s all here.” 

Galavan picked up a pen, motioning for Bruce to stand on the other side of the desk. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Bruce didn’t move, still standing staunchly by the door. “Not yet.”

He raised an eyebrow impatiently, tapping the pen on the desk. “What do you mean, not yet?”

“I need to see Jeremiah first. To make sure he’s okay.” 

Galavan’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t trust me to hold up my end of the deal?”

“Not really. I mean, you haven’t done anything so far to warrant my trust.” Bruce held the papers tighter, looking the man steadily in the eye. Galavan sighed.

“Fair enough.” He opened the door to one of the rooms that led off the main living area and disappeared inside. Bruce waited for him to be totally out of sight, then whispered into the transmitter, 

“Detective Gordon, if you can hear me, the front door’s closed but it’s not locked. You should be able to get it open without any trouble, once I’m ready for you to come in.” It took every ounce of control to not open the door and check to make sure they were outside…that would be much too risky, and he didn’t know how quickly Galavan would reappear.

_Don’t second-guess yourself. There isn’t time for that. And no room for mistakes, either. Just stick to your original plan._

His attention was snapped back into the moment when Galavan came back, dragging Jeremiah behind him, the latter stumbling up against him as the man stopped. Bruce felt like all the air had been sucked from his lungs, and he gripped onto the papers he was holding so tightly that they began to crumple beneath his fingers. Unthinkingly, he took a step toward his friend, then held himself back. He couldn’t jeopardize this situation, especially not now.

“Satisfied?” Galavan snapped, all pretenses of friendliness gone. He let go of Jeremiah’s arm, and the redhead backed up against the wall, his eyes still fixed on the man nervously before catching sight of Bruce. He froze, staring in disbelief, then his expression turned to horror.

“Bruce, you have to get out of here, he’s going to kill you, he—" Galavan shot him a warning glare and Jeremiah broke off, drawing his shoulders up and wrapping his arms around his chest protectively. Bruce could see he was trembling, his eyes hollow and exhausted, and he was looking at him with such desperation that Bruce felt a cold shiver run through him as he glanced at Galavan with renewed suspicion.

_Kill me?_

“There, you see, no dishonesty on my part.” Galavan said smoothly, as if nothing had happened. “Now, if you would be so kind as to hand over those papers…”

Bruce drew a deep breath, trying to focus on whatever the man was saying. Trying to stick with the plan, even if all he wanted to do was run across the room and tell his friend it would be okay, that he would get him out of here…

“All right.” he said steadily, his face betraying nothing (at least, that was what he hoped.) Slowly, he approached the desk, smoothing out the documents in his hands. “There are some parts for you to sign, and read over if you want.”

“I appreciate it, Bruce.” Galavan smiled in an unfriendly way, and Bruce set the papers down on the desk, retreating back a few steps. He spoke into the transmitter, quickly.

“Gordon, now.”

Galavan looked up sharply, eyes narrowed and suspicious. “Did you say some—" 

Before he could finished, the front door of the building burst open, and both Gordon and Bullock appeared, guns held at the ready and aimed straight at Galavan. “Hands in the air!” Gordon barked, and the man retaliated by pulling out his own pistol, leveling it right back at them. The sound of one of the guns being shot split the air, and Bruce saw Jeremiah duck his head instinctively, trembling violently. He ran at his friend, pulling him through the open door into the other room, but Jeremiah clung onto the doorframe, shaking his head.

“Bruce, I can’t go back in there, I can’t…” His voice was no higher than a whisper, but laden with so much terror the Bruce paused for a moment, taken aback, before glancing over at the policemen and Galavan, who were now fighting, Galavan obviously well-trained in multiple forms of combat and both cops struggling to pin him down. 

“We’ve got to get out of the way.” he said hurriedly. “In case they start shooting again.”

Although he looked no less scared, Jeremiah gave in and followed Bruce into the room, collapsing to the floor a moment later. Bruce followed suit, his heart beating fast in his chest from adrenaline, trying to stay level-headed in the midst of the chaos. There was another gunshot, and Jeremiah clung onto Bruce more tightly, glancing skittishly over his shoulder. Bruce tried to distract him.

“Hey, it’s okay. They’ll—" he jumped at the sound of something crashing to the ground outside the half-closed door. “they’ll stop him. There's nothing to worry about. We just have to wait for them to get things under control. But it’ll be okay.”

Jeremiah didn’t reply, only wordlessly wrapped his arms around Bruce’s neck and huddled closer, still shaking. Bruce hugged him back, listening intently at the voices that rose loudly in the other room, his own nerves on edge. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered Jerome, wondered where he was. Wasn’t he working for Galavan? If he was, why wasn’t he here? 

He didn’t want to bring up the subject to his friend, not after all this, seeing how traumatized he was, but he couldn’t risk Jerome breaking into the fight outside without warning…even Gordon and Bullock combined might be hard-pressed to control both Galavan and the lunatic redhead. “Miah, where’s Jerome?” he asked quietly, and he felt Jeremiah’s shoulders tense beneath him. “I just need to know in case he gets involved with what’s happening out there. Is he here, at the penthouse?”

Jeremiah shook his head, not looking up at Bruce, who felt worse than ever for pressing the matter, but he had to. “Where is he? Do you know?”

He had to lean down to catch the other boy’s words, they were spoken so quietly. “He’s dead.”

“Dead?” Bruce echoed, shocked, feeling guilty for the relief that came along with that declaration, but unable to deny that he _was_ relieved. Even if it didn’t change everything that had happened, at least none of it could happen again if Jerome was really gone. Jeremiah nodded slightly, and Bruce asked, “Did…someone kill him?”

His friend _did_ look up at that, and Bruce caught a glimpse of something tortured and indecipherable in his wide eyes. There was a long pause between them, then Jeremiah turned away again.

“…Galavan’s sister.” he said slowly, and Bruce couldn’t help but thinking there was something that sounded wrong about his answer, though he wasn’t sure what. He shook his head…that wasn’t what he needed to focus on now.

“His sister?” he asked quietly, trying to ignore whatever was going on outside and focus on the question at hand. “Why did she kill him?”

“I…I don’t know.” he whispered, his hands curling into the material of Bruce’s shirt. “She t-took him away earlier. They’re both gone now.” He spoke hurriedly, as if he wanted to get the explanation over with as soon as possible. “But he’s dead.”

_And hopefully for good,_ Bruce thought, although he didn’t say it aloud. “Is he the one who did this to you?” he asked softly, his hand brushing against Jeremiah’s side, the latter wincing at the contact from the sluggishly bleeding gunshot wound. Trying to push away the helpless anger at the allegedly dead Valeska, Bruce held onto his friend tighter. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Miah.”

Jeremiah turned to look at him with faint puzzlement in his eyes. “Y-you didn’t do anything…”

“I should have been more careful.” Bruce ran a hand over his face distractedly, half-listening to the scuffle happening outside the door, half-focused on what he wanted to say. “I should never have let you go alone…”

“It wasn’t _you,_ Bruce.” he repeated, absolute conviction in his voice. He closed his eyes tightly, adding more softly this time, “It was never you.”

“If…if I hadn’t found you…” Bruce said quietly, trying to sound as composed as he could under the circumstances and failing miserably. “God, Miah, they could’ve killed you.” His voice wavered.

“I knew you’d find me.” he murmured, eyes still closed. And that was partly true, at least. Granted, in the past few days he had been increasingly uncertain if he would ever leave this place, but now he could barely even remember any of that doubt, because it was over, it was really over, and things _were_ going to be all right now.

Bruce looked up, realizing the room outside was quiet. Jim Gordon pushed the door open, wiping sweat off his face with the back of his sleeve and tucking his pistol back into his holster. “Well, we broke a couple home decor items along the way, but everything’s under control now.” he said, leaning against the door. “Bullock’s got cuffs on him and he’s not going anywhere except the station to be locked up.”

Bruce smiled gratefully, relief sweeping over him. _Everything’s going to be all right now. Finally, after all this time, it will really be all right._

Gordon cast a raised-eyebrow look at Jeremiah, who was still holding onto Bruce like he would never let go again. “Is he okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice, and Bruce couldn’t help but think, _Now do you see he really wasn’t mixed up in anything that had to do with his brother?_

But he didn’t say that aloud, only nodded. “I think so. I mean, no, I wouldn’t say _okay,_ but he’s alive. I thought…I thought they were gonna kill him.”

Gordon picked up a piece of broken glass off the floor from a vase that had been smashed in the fight as Bullock appeared behind him, dusting his hands off on his shirt. “Yikes, someone needs to get that kid to a hospital.”

Jeremiah looked at Bruce pleadingly, ignoring the cops standing in the doorway. “I just…want to go home.” he whispered, forcing his voice to stay as steady as he could make it.

Gordon shook his head. “I don’t think…”

“Alfred worked as a medic when he was in the military for a while.” Bruce said with a sudden flash of inspiration, remembering the stories the butler had told him when he was younger. “He can take care of him.”

The detective didn’t look entirely convinced. “Bruce, I shouldn’t…”

“Please.” he interrupted, and Gordon sighed. “You know Alfred. He knows what he’s doing. And if Galavan’s in custody, there’s nothing else to worry about.”

“What about Jerome?”

“He’s dead.” Bruce echoed his friend’s words from before, and Gordon frowned.

“I thought you said he was still alive. And working for him.” He nodded over his shoulder at the handcuffed prisoner behind him. Bruce held on tighter to Jeremiah, who was trembling again, his eyes closed tight as if he was trying to shut out the things the detectives were saying.

“He was. But Galavan’s sister killed him, and no one’s seen her. He’s gone.”

Bullock and Gordon exchanged bemused glances, then the latter sighed again, running a hand over his forehead tiredly. “You know what, I’m going to focus on bringing Galavan into custody right now before we get into any of this other stuff. And yes, you can go back to the manor.” he added, seeing Bruce about to ask the quest again. “But I’ll be dropping by to keep an eye on things and make sure no one else tries to mess with you or your company, got that? I don’t want to have something else like this happen.”

Bruce nodded gratefully, turning back to Jeremiah, who was looking at him as if he was the only thing that mattered in the world. There was so much silent adoration in his eyes that for a moment, Bruce looked away, everything he wanted to say dying on his lips. He cleared his throat and summoned a faint smile, no longer trying to hide the stark relief in his expression as he whispered to his friend,

“Okay. We can go home.”

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

“Oh, I’m gonna _kill_ you!” Selina shot across the room, curtains fluttering in her wake and the window creaking shut behind her. “I will actually _murder_ you for making me worry so much!” She skidded to a stop in front of Jeremiah, who was curled up next to Bruce reading a book, his head resting on his friend’s shoulder. He looked up to smile at her, and despite the dark shadows under his eyes, looked happier than he had in the past day he’d been back at the manor. 

“Hi, Selina.”

As someone who had sworn off showing any kind of emotion that could hint at vulnerability, Selina opted for a critical stare instead of smiling back…there was too much risk of her looking genuinely relieved if she did, and _that_ wasn’t exactly going to make her look as tough as she wanted to be.

“Seriously, I can only handle worrying about one of you two idiots at a time. Between you, I’m gonna lose fifty years of my life.” She sat down on the edge of the side table, and Bruce rolled his eyes.

“So many nice things to say, as always.” he commented ironically, and Selina kicked his foot.

“I mean it, I…” She trailed off, running her hand along the edge of the table, but the meaning of her words was clear in her eyes. _I really was worried._

They were all three silent for a long moment, then Selina cleared her throat. “What did Alfred say when you came back? Was he mad?”

  
“Furious.” Bruce shook his head. “I don’t think he’ll ever let me leave the house again without telling him. But he’ll get over it. It wasn’t like anything bad ended up happening, anyway.”

“Wish I coulda seen that.” she commented, swinging her legs back and forth against the table. “I’ve only ever seen the old man mad at _me_ before. It would’ve been fun to see him yell at someone else.”

“Kind of a strange idea of entertainment.” Bruce gave her a half-smile. She shrugged.

“Hey, I’ll take what I can get.” Turning to Jeremiah, her tone became softer, less humorous. “Are you really all right, kid?”

He nodded, still pressed close to Bruce. And it was true, he _was,_ at least right now, when he knew his best friend was right next to him and wasn’t going to go anywhere, when everything from the past few weeks felt like some sort of distant, hazy nightmare that was too frightening to be real…he _was_ all right then. Because it all felt like it was in the past, even if it had only been yesterday Bruce and the police had shown up at the penthouse, and it was all over.

It didn’t mean that he could stop thinking about Jerome, though.

His twin was in his thoughts every second, his mind replaying the moment he had died over and over again like a film caught on a loop, the question constantly whispering in his head, _Have you really become like him?_ He had been so sure that killing Jerome would have kept him away forever…he was dead, the body was gone, and the police hadn’t even questioned him about it, having been so focused on Galavan. 

_So why won’t he just leave for good?_

Even throughout the past day, after arriving back at the manor the night before, he kept thinking he heard Jerome’s laugh, and he would look up quickly, his eyes wide and scared, searching for his brother. If Bruce caught it, he wouldn’t ask him what was wrong, only take his hand and tell him that there wasn’t anything to worry about, that he was safe now and no one was going to hurt him.

_You don’t deserve a friend like Bruce._

He knew Jerome was gone, that it was silly and paranoid to imagine he was still there, but it felt so _real,_ more real than the memories of the past weeks, and he couldn’t help believing, at least partway, that his twin was watching him, waiting for him to break under the pressure of what he knew he had done.

_Killed him._

_What if Bruce finds out you killed him?_

_He’d never forgive you._

He shivered, and Bruce looked over at him. “It’s okay, Miah.” he said quietly, and Jeremiah’s heart twisted with boundless admiration for his friend…Bruce didn’t even have to ask what the matter was, because he _understood_ , even if he didn’t know everything that had happened. He always understood, always had, and his words were enough to push the thought of Jerome from his mind long enough to listen to what Selina was saying.

“Glad to see those two idiots calling themselves cops finally got it together for once. Gordon’s not as bad at his job as he used to be. Though I don’t know if that’s saying much.”

“Have they found Silver? Or Galavan’s sister?” Bruce asked, and Jeremiah’s breath caught in his throat, remembering suddenly that Tabitha was the one he’d pinned Jerome’s death on the day before. If they found her and she denied it…Gordon might start questioning her brother, too, and he wouldn’t hesitate to point fingers. 

_Bruce can’t know, he can’t know what happened with Jerome, he’ll leave me, and I won’t ever…_

“No one’s seen either of them.” Selina replied, and Jeremiah almost laughed in relief, the tension that had momentarily frozen every muscle in his body vanishing. He sat up straighter, biting down on his lip and trying to ignore the pain in his side…Alfred had done a better job than most professionals at stitching and bandaging the knife and gunshot wounds inflicted by Jerome, but they weren’t going to disappear overnight. He tried to distract himself by listening to Selina, who was currently saying something about Silver. By her tone, it was nothing complimentary.

“But anyway, _I_ don’t care where she’s gone. As long as she doesn’t try to come back.” She tossed her head, her curly hair falling in her face. “I don’t want anyone breaking up this,” she nodded at her two friends, “ever again.” Bruce smiled at that, and Selina shot him a warning look. “And don’t you dare say I’m being sentimental, because I’ll punch you in the face and knock out all your teeth.”

“I wasn’t saying anything.” Bruce defended himself, laughing, and she smirked at him.

“Smart.” Climbing off the table where she had been perched, she joined them on the couch, drawing her feet up underneath her and staring into the fireplace, which Alfred had lit that morning. “But I mean it, you know.”

“Punching me?” he feigned a look of sadness, and she shook her head.

“No. I mean _us.”_ She glanced over at Bruce and touched Jeremiah gently on the shoulder. “You two. It’s just us here, and that’s how it should be, right? How it was before.”

Bruce nodded contemplatively, following her gaze to the fire. “Yes.”

Jeremiah watched the shadows from the flames flickering across his friend’s face, hoping Selina’s words were true. That things could go back to how they were before. He’d been happy then…they all had. For those few fleeting months, it had felt like he was part of a family, one he never wanted to leave.

Before he’d been forced to remember his _real_ family. Before Jerome had ruined everything, everything he’d worked so hard to protect. Who he was, how he’d tried so hard to be _different_ from his brother, _better_ than him, and it didn’t matter in the end, because Jerome still got what he wanted.

_Can we ever go back?_

He wished with all his heart that things would become normal again, like they had been. As normal as they could be. Maybe he could even forget about Jerome someday, or at least only remember him as a distant, vague recollection and nothing more. And then he wouldn’t have to think about his twin anymore, about the things he’d said, the way he’d insisted with such certainty that they were the same. 

Even if he knew, deep down, that could never happen, that things might not ever be normal again, not entirely, at least, it didn’t stop him from hoping. Because if he _did_ stop, then he was afraid that he might start believing the things Jerome had said. If he wasn’t at least partly convinced that things could go back to normal, then what was the point of surviving? That was all he had wanted…he couldn’t lose sight of it, or else he might start hearing his brother again, hearing the words ( _the lies)_ he’d repeated so many times over and over again until they were irrevocably seared into Jeremiah’s mind.

_Don’t let him win this time. He’s beaten you at every turn, always gotten the upper hand. Don’t let it happen again._

_He doesn’t always have to win. And he won’t anymore._

_Because he’s dead._

With renewed ambition, he tried to forget about Jerome completely. As completely as he could, at least. And when he heard the familiar, terrifying laughter begin to echo in the back of his thoughts like a malevolent nightmare pushing its way into his mind of its own accord, he tried to think about Bruce instead.

Because if anyone could stave off the darkness, it was Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter after this, folks...stay tuned!


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

 

_You really think you can keep a secret like that from him?_

_Sooner or later, he’ll find out. He found out everything else about you…I mean, what_ haven’t _you told him? What makes you think you can hide this?_

Jeremiah rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, staring up at the ceiling and watching the shadows dance across it. In the daylight, when there were other things to think about, it was easy to forget everything that had happened, or at least push it to the back of his mind for the moment. But lying in bed at night, surrounded by darkness and silence, he couldn’t help the way his thoughts turned to the things he wished so desperately to forget.

_Why can’t this just all be over now?_

But his conscience wouldn’t leave him alone, whispering incessantly that he had to tell Bruce, he had to tell him what had happened between him and Jerome.

_…how you killed him…_

Part of him, the part that couldn’t fully resign himself to reality, told him that Bruce wouldn’t be mad, he’d understand, just like he always understood everything. He _had_ to do it…what other options had there been in the moment? It was either kill or be killed, and surely no one could blame Jeremiah for trying to protect himself…

But there was another part of him, the one that knew the truth.

And it couldn’t quite agree with that.

_That’s not why you did it._

Why _had_ he done it? That was the part Jeremiah himself still couldn’t figure out. If it wasn’t self-preservation or an accidental spur-of-the-moment decision, then what was it? He tried to remember what had happened, but it was all a blur, just like most of the days he had spent in the past month. Inseparable from one another, all mixed together in a confused jumble that he didn’t even try to begin to understand. 

_You can’t change what happened. Just forget about it._

But how could he forget when it was always on his mind, day after day? Even now, a week after everything had ended, Jerome was still stuck in his head, that maddening laughter and low, taunting voice echoing in his every thought, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

Jeremiah rolled onto his side restlessly, smoothing out the blanket that had grown tangled around him and staring out the window, one arm pillowing his head. The nights seemed horribly long now, and even when he wanted to sleep, he dreaded what sort of nightmares that would come with it. He dreamed he was back _there_ , at that horrible penthouse, back with Jerome, and his brother was staring at him with empty, dead eyes as he walked toward him with a knife, his face still and frozen like he last remembered seeing it. Jeremiah would back away in mute terror, wanting to speak, wanting to tell Jerome that he wasn’t real, this was all just inside his mind, the remnants of his own fear, but he couldn’t say anything. 

It was always the same dream, and he would wake up in a cold sweat, shaking, every time. Eyes wide and pupils dilated in panic, his breath stuttering in his chest, hands clutching the quilt on the bed. So instead of trying to go back to sleep, he would think about what life would have been like without Jerome…what sort of things he could have done. It was a useless fantasy, and one that brought an unconscious sense of bitterness along with it, but it was better than that nightmare, and sometimes he could almost believe it could be real. He could become an architect or an engineer like he had always wanted…maybe build something so spectacular that everyone would remember him forever. And Bruce would be proud of him…that was the most important part. Nothing else really mattered, as long as Bruce still cared.

Without him, Jeremiah wasn’t sure he would even want to go on living.

On this particular night, though, he didn’t want to speculate on the possibilities of his life. His mind was occupied with the burning question that had lurked there for the past week: what if Bruce found out who had _really_ killed Jerome? Galavan hadn’t said anything on the matter, even after his arrest, and his sister was nowhere to be found, but that didn’t mean the truth couldn’t come out eventually. Jeremiah wasn’t sure if he would rather Bruce hear it from a secondary source or from himself, but the point was that he was a murderer, and it scared him beyond belief when he began to wonder what his friend might think if he learned about it.

He traced the fading scar on his lower arm absently, the one from when Jerome had attacked him with the knife. He didn’t feel it much anymore, but it was still there, another unpleasant reminder of his brother’s control over his life. _He’ll never really be gone. How much did you accomplish by killing him if you can’t even stop thinking about him?_

The door creaked open and Jeremiah sat up carefully, ignoring the twinge in his side subdued by the painkillers Alfred had given him before he’d gone to bed. He blinked, trying to see who stood in the darkened doorway, and didn’t realize how tense he was until he heard Bruce’s whispered voice. His shoulders slumped in unspoken relief _(what are you so scared of, who were you expecting it to be? There’s nothing to be worried about anymore)_ and he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asked softly, holding onto the door handle. Jeremiah started, wondering how Bruce always knew when something was bothering him. Jerome had known too, but that had been different…there was something malicious about his brother’s insight, he would always use it against him as a weapon. Bruce never did that…he only ever wanted to help.

_He’s more of a brother than Jerome ever was,_ Jeremiah thought, not for the first time, then realized he’d been asked a question.

“Yes.” he whispered back, realizing he sounded anything but convincing. He couldn’t suppress the faint tremor in his voice, or the way he gripped onto the edge of the quilt with both hands to keep them from shaking. He wondered if there was any trace of guilt on his face, any sort of way to decipher what he had been thinking just moments ago.

_Does he know what I did? To Jerome? How could he have found out…no, he can’t know, that’s impossible, but he always seems to be able to tell…_

“Can’t sleep?” Bruce spoke sympathetically, leaning against the edge of the door. Jeremiah shrugged.

“I guess I’m not tired.” _That_ was a lie, and Bruce knew it right away.

“It’s him, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question, they both knew the answer already, it didn’t need to be spoken aloud. “Jerome.”

“I can’t…” He broke off with a shiver, and Bruce crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning on his wrists. “I can’t stop thinking about him. Feeling like he’s coming back.”

“But he won’t, Miah.” Bruce said firmly, reaching over to disentangle his hand from the quilt and hold it tightly. Jeremiah didn’t want him to ever let go…when Bruce was here, he could forget about the guilt, the terrible memories that wouldn’t leave. 

“He _did_ come back, though.” he argued, fighting to keep his voice from shaking. “He came back after the charity ball…”

“He wasn’t really dead.” Bruce reminded him, looking at him directly in the eyes. Jeremiah’s stare faltered under that steady gaze and he turned away. “Miah, listen. He wasn’t dead then. It was just a trick. There was nothing unnatural about any of it…it doesn’t mean he can simply come to life again when he wants. He’s really dead this time, and you don’t have to worry anymore.”

_Tell him. Tell him you did it. He deserves to know. You can’t keep hiding this secret forever, it’ll eat you alive…_

He chewed his lip nervously. “Bruce, I…” His voice broke and he shook his head, wishing he had even an ounce of courage. Maybe then this wouldn’t be so hard. 

“What is it?” Bruce leaned forward, listening attentively. Jeremiah felt his chest constrict.

_I can’t, I can’t do it, I can’t let him be disappointed in me. Not now, not when he’s the only thing I have left._

_I can’t lose him._

“I wish I could forget it all.” he finished slowly, and Bruce paused for a moment. Jeremiah felt a jolt of panic as he wondered if his words hadn’t come off convincing enough…if his friend somehow knew he’d been meaning to say something else. 

“I wish you could, too.” Bruce said finally, and the redhead relaxed again. _He doesn’t know._

_And he can’t ever know._

_You’re going to have to keep this a secret, forever. If you want things to stay like this._

“No one deserved to be in that position, least of all you.” Bruce was still speaking, his voice soft but laden with sincerity. “And if there was any way to reverse what happened, I would be the first one to do it. You don’t know how sorry I am for all this.”

“Bruce, it wasn’t your fault,” he began to protest, and his friend shook his head, cutting him off.

“No, I should have been more careful. I didn’t do those things to you, but I let them happen in the first place because I didn’t think things through enough.”

Jeremiah’s eyes sparked with indignation. “That’s _not_ true, you had no way of knowing…”

“Okay, never mind, we don’t have to discuss if it’s anyone’s fault.” Bruce said comfortingly. “I’m just glad we weren’t too late.”

“Me too.” he replied quietly, but there was a part of him that whispered, _Are you sure it wasn’t too late?_

_What else would you have done if they hadn’t found you when they did?_

_Would you have murdered anyone else?_

His jaw tightened at that. _No, I’m not a murderer. I wouldn’t have killed anybody. It was just…_

_Just Jerome._ the whisper in his mind supplied mercilessly. _Just your brother, and why? Because you wanted to prove you were better than him? Or that he was wrong? I’m not sure you accomplished either of those things._

“Stop.” he whispered, and Bruce looked up.

“Stop what?”

Jeremiah’s face flushed. “Nothing, I…I just…”

“There’s nothing to be scared of anymore.” Bruce said with complete conviction, and Jeremiah wanted so badly to believe him. “Everything’s going to be okay now. I promise.”

_I promise._

Somewhere in the back of his thoughts, Jeremiah remembered the day he had met up with Galavan the first time. How he’d been so scared, so reluctant to socialize with a complete stranger, especially the one he’d thought killed his brother. He remembered how Bruce had reassured him then, _promised_ him that nothing would go wrong, that he would be all right.

_And look what happened._

_But that wasn’t Bruce’s fault,_ he told himself sternly. _He didn’t know what Galavan was planning._

Seeing the unconvinced expression on the redhead’s face, Bruce climbed up into the bed, rearranging the pillow closest to him. “Would you feel better if I stayed with you?”

Jeremiah didn’t reply, but he clung onto his friend’s hand tighter, and Bruce understood…he didn’t need words to know what the other meant by it.

_As long as you’re here, I know there’s nothing to be scared of._

 

\+ + + + + + 

 

Jeremiah said nothing to Bruce about Jerome’s death, to the point of not even mentioning his name. Bruce didn’t ever press the matter, not wanting to bring up painful memories. But the two of them both felt the unspoken question between them, although neither were entirely sure what it was…for Jeremiah, it was a question of whether or not he would ever change his mind and finally tell his friend about what had really happened, and for Bruce it was a vague feeling that something was missing in the explanation of the whole situation, but he wasn’t sure what. 

Eventually, they both decided to ignore it. That was easier than trying to figure out the truth.

A week later, the newspapers published a side column story, the opening lines reading “Serial killer’s body found in asylum morgue; resident physician Hugo Strange claims it was given to him by an unnamed individual as a specimen for study. After police intervention, the body has been placed in an undisclosed secure vault before transferring it for burial at some point in the future.” Bruce had seen the article, but hadn’t shown it to Jeremiah, not wanting to bring up the subject of his twin again.

It was also seen by a worker at the local morgue for one of the public cemeteries in the city, and was painstakingly cut up and taped to the inside of a locker, the nameplate reading “Dwight Pollard” with a homemade sticker of a grinning face underneath for decoration.

 

\+ + + + + + 

 

A month later, there was a police investigation for a series of bodies that had gone missing at the morgue, but Gordon had called it off, having been focused on a more important case at the time. 

“I think we can set aside this situation for the time being until I have some more detectives who are free to take it up again.” he’d announced to the workers, who were crowded around him as he was leaving. “Just as long as there aren’t any more stories of reanimation in this city, I’m happy.”

They’d chuckled nervously, not quite sure what he had meant by that. Whispers of “ _any_ more _stories of reanimation?”_ ran through the group as the detective turned away, not bothering to explain his words. They didn’t know about Jerome’s return from the supposed grave after the charity ball, and since he was now officially dead, there was no reason why they should.

Dwight had stood in the back, his fingers tapping against the crumpled newspaper clipping in his pocket, his mouth drawn into a thin line. He didn’t move for a long time, even after the small crowd dispersed and went back to their work.

Gordon didn’t notice.

 

\+ + + + + +

 

Jeremiah began designing mazes again, more complicated and intricate than before. Bruce would watch him sometimes, always fascinated at how his friend could create something like that with such seemingly effortlessness. One day he asked him if he was planning on doing anything with them one day.

Jeremiah looked up. “I was thinking about building a house.” He shrugged, almost self-consciously. “I mean, someday. It could be designed so no one can get in or out unless they know how.”

Bruce remembered a similar conversation they’d had several long months ago…it felt like it had been an eternity since that time. So much had changed…he could hardly believe they were the same two people as they had been back then.

Maybe they weren’t.

“I could fund a project like that for you sometime. If you wanted.” he offered, and Jeremiah looked up quickly.

“ _Bruce._ I would never take your money.”

“It could be a gift.”

“A _house?”_ Jeremiah gave a short, incredulous laugh. He didn’t laugh much anymore, and when he did, it usually wasn’t out of humor. _“_ I don’t think so.”

Bruce frowned thoughtfully, then his eyes lit up. “Wait. Did you ever get paid for working on Wayne Plaza?”

He shook his head, still absorbed in his drawing. “No. Your parents…” He glanced at Bruce out of the corner of his eye cautiously, and the latter understood.

_Your parents died before they could do anything about that._

“Oh.” There was silence between them for a moment, then Bruce continued, “Well, if my father didn’t pay you, then you could consider this a sort of reimbursement.”

“I am _not_ ever letting you fund a house for me.” Jeremiah said decidedly. “And I don’t need you to pay me back for the Wayne Plaza thing. I did that because I wanted to.”

“We’ll see.” Bruce acquiesced, fully intending on following through on his offer, but knowing Jeremiah wouldn’t give any ground to his argument right now. _Still, that’s got to be a pretty good reason. I mean, helping create Wayne Plaza isn’t something just anyone can do. He could at least accept some sort of repayment for it, even if I have to frame it as duty to my family._

He suddenly sat up straighter, something flashing across his memory. “Wait a second. I just thought of something.”

“What is it?”

Bruce looked over at his friend. “Will you go over to Wayne Enterprises with me later today?”

Jeremiah looked at him incredulously. “Bruce, what are you talking about?”

He stood up, waving away any more questions. “Don’t ask. Will you do it?”

“But why do you want…”

“Miah, it’s a surprise.”

His eyes narrowed. “I hate surprises.”

“Well, this is a good one. Don’t worry, it doesn’t involve anyone else. Just you and me. Will you go?”

He paused for a moment, considering, then nodded his head slowly, with no little amount of reluctance. “Okay…”

“Good.” He ran out of the study, and Jeremiah watched him go, wondering what he was planning on doing but knowing since it was Bruce, it wouldn’t be anything to worry about.

If there was anyone he trusted, it was him.

 

\+ + + + + +

 

The foyer of Wayne Enterprises was empty, having been closed for the evening. Bruce and Jeremiah stood in front of the wall filled with names of the people who had contributed to the company, the former glancing over at his friend with a tentative smile on his face.

“What do you think?”

  
Wordlessly, Jeremiah slowly traced the letters on the newly added plaque, replacing the one that had been there before. “Bruce, it’s…”

“It’s you. The real you. Not Xander Wilde, not anyone you pretended to be. Just you, because you’re the one who deserves the credit.” Bruce twisted his hands together. “You don’t mind, do you?”

He shook his head, drawing his hand away quickly. “But isn’t it…I mean, the _name._ People…people know that name from…from Jerome. Won’t they…”

“It says _Jeremiah_ Valeska.” Bruce interrupted, emphasizing his words by tapping on the marble plaque as he spoke. “You are not your brother. _I_ know that, and this is my company. If anyone has a problem with it, then I’ll deal with it. But you deserve to have that. And Jerome shouldn’t be able to take it away from you.”

His eyes wide and filled with a million emotions at once, Jeremiah nodded slightly, staring at the name in front of him. “Okay.” he said softly, and Bruce knew by his tone that it _was_ okay, it wasn’t just him trying to please Bruce by agreeing with him. 

On Jeremiah’s part, he felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. His mind played Bruce’s words on repeat, over and over again in his head.

_You are not your brother._

For a moment, he felt some of the weight he’d been carrying for the past month and a half lift, even if it was only temporary.

That was good enough for now.

 

\+ + + + + + 

 

He woke up in the middle of the night, trembling from a dream he couldn’t remember. It wasn’t the same one he’d been having ever since the situation with Galavan had ended, but it seemed like all his dreams were nightmares now, and sometimes it was better to wake up from them than to endure their terrors throughout the rest of the night.

Trying to steady his breath, Jeremiah ran a hand across his face. _It’s okay. You’re okay. It wasn’t real, whatever it was. Just your imagination. If you go back to sleep, maybe it’ll stay away._

He closed his eyes again, focusing on things that his mind couldn’t possible formulate a nightmare off of. The labyrinths he’d designed that day, the way Bruce had smiled proudly when Jeremiah had shown them to him and how he’d returned the look happily, one of the few genuine smiles he offered these days. How Selina had dropped by for a chess game and tried to (unsuccessfully) convince Bruce that he should fund her friend’s project for developing plants to make illegal drugs. Normal life, regular, everyday things that were further away from any sort of bad dream he’d ever had.

_Maybe things are going back to how they were before._

“Having trouble sleeping?” 

His eyes shot open and he sat up abruptly, sucking in a sharp breath as he jostled the stitches along his ribcage. His gaze suddenly devoid of any sort of sleep, wide and frightened, he looked wildly around the room, searching for the source of the familiar voice he was certain he’d just heard.

_No, oh please don’t be real, please, please, please…_

“Where are you?” he whispered, and the voice laughed, harsh and loud. Jeremiah pressed his hands to the sides of his face, shutting his eyes tightly. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, brother dear. You shoulda known that. After all, I was the one who didn’t stop tracking ya down after all those years when you left me behind at the circus. You really think killing me would keep me away for good?”

“You’re dead.” Jeremiah murmured breathlessly, more to reassure himself than anything else. Jerome’s voice echoed in his ears, frighteningly real.

“Yeah, I’m dead, if you want to call it that, but still. Doesn’t mean I’m _gone,_ does it? You’ve thought it yourself a million times.”

“You’re not here.”

“Not technically.” The voice was so near now, and Jeremiah slowly began to realize there was no one in the room, that the only voice he heard aloud was his own.

_ It's just you. _

_But it sounds so real, I thought for sure he was here…_

“I think ’s long as you’re gonna keep remembering me, I would say I’m very much here.” Jerome continued, and Jeremiah shuddered, despair rushing through him.

_I knew he was never really gone. I knew he wouldn’t leave me alone._

_Even if he’s only in your head, he’s still here._

_He’ll always be here._

“Please, just go away.” he whispered, his voice quivering uncontrollably. He heard Jerome’s laugh again, pounding through his thoughts like a sledgehammer, everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“Seriously, Miah? You think I’ll just go off and leave you alone? What a joke.” His twin’s voice was laughing, but there was an unmistakably menacing edge. “You never struck me as one to bring out the humor in a situation.”

“Why won’t you leave me alone?” he tried desperately, knowing he was only talking to himself, to the imagined being in his head, but it felt so _real,_ he could hear Jerome’s voice just as clearly as his own.

“Because, my darling brother,” his twin said softly, and Jeremiah gritted his teeth at those words, “you can never live without me. I’m a part of you, no matter what you do or where you go. Haven’t I always said we’re connected?”

  
“But we _aren’t.”_ he said despairingly, knowing there was no point in arguing, not when the argument was with his dead brother whose voice he was suddenly hearing in his own mind. “There isn’t a connection.”

“Oh really? Then how do you explain the fact that you, the perfectly sane, unquestionably sound one of us two, is having a conversation with a person in his _head?”_ Jerome’s grating laugh broke through his own words. “Doesn’t seem very logical to me, Miah.”

“Jerome, don’t. Just _go_. You’re dead, and you aren’t coming back, and there’s _nothing_ you can do about it.”

“Oh, but do I really need to come back?” he retorted maddeningly. “All I need is for _you_ to stick around, and I can just sit back and watch the fun. It’s just a matter of time.”

“For what? For me to go _crazy,_ is that it?” Jeremiah pressed his lips closed, determined not to speak another word. This was ridiculous…he wasn’t going to listen to his brother _(no, your own imagination, and you can’t let yourself believe it’s really him, because it’s just you, it’s just your own thoughts playing a trick on you)_ anymore. 

“For you to realize,” Jerome said calmly, much to calm for Jerome, and for a horrible second it didn’t sound like him, it sounded like _Jeremiah_ , and his eyes flew open with breathless panic, staring helplessly at the shadows that were closing in all around him, “that you could be so much more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this one! I'm working on the beginning of the next fic, which will directly follow up on this, and I should have the first chapter for that posted tomorrow or in a few days...thanks again for reading, y'all, and I hope ya liked it! :))


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